The maple survived in the midst of the world. It was more human than many people. Along with the other trees, it provided shelter. This is a landscape from my childhood.
Of all the trees I knew back then, the maple seemed the most human. It had fingers, hands and a nose. Actually, it had many noses making up an imaginary schnozzle—an idea that belonged to some transcendental tree face. We were closer than ever, biologically speaking, on the days when I would stop on my way home from school and pick up those green noses. I’d stick them on the tip of my own nose with a strange sense of satisfaction at being at one with a maple tree.
Where was the maple’s face? I had no idea, but I was sure it was there somewhere, which is why I examined the great plant so closely. I even went right out
