You're walking along, and there at your feet is a little critter, alive in the wood, with moss coat, emerging from its cave. Does it have two heads and one central horn, or is a moving picture, head to the right leaving its shadow on the left? They can do and be whatever they wish, invisible to most eyes to see, living there, in this case, right on the trail, in a gnarly twisting curling piece of wood.
Since I just arrived from Ireland where a farmer used to tell me about all the leprachauns he sees in the early morning hours, or late at night, dancing on the hill, the little ones with green jackets and red hats, I imagined a faery living in this tree here in Maine, in Acadia National Park. Why not? My friend Danny, who has a rath (hill fort) and a dolmen (tomb) right on his property in County Wexford, says that some leprachauns have picked up and landed in all manner of places outside of Ireland.
In Ireland I met many stone beings and now in Maine I'm meeting log beings. In the deep silence of the sea, behind the sound of waves, beyond the rush of the stream in the deep forest--all--lies the land of Nod. And I say the land of Nod is the land of inner Knowing.