Once, I came to a spot where an old tree had fallen across the path. Someone had cut out a large chunk from the middle where it had blocked the path—a long time ago, because the cuts were old and weathered—but left the rest of the tree lying there. The base of the tree looked like a face, with roots spreading out in all directions like crazy tangled hair. It reminded me of my curls when I don’t put them up in a braid. Bumps in the bark looked like closed eyes and a mouth, and a giant clod of dirt in the middle looked just like a big, bulbous nose. I pictured it as this old man lying there asleep in the middle of the forest.