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I was on Michigan's Upper Peninsula, out on Whitefish Point on Lake Superior, on a late spring evening. A gray, foggy evening, serene and calm. Walking down the beach, we came upon the ruins of several old piers extending out into the lake.
Just beyond those long-battered old wooden pilings, a large tree stump was partially submerged in the sand. Gray and weatherbeaten by who knows how many brutal northern winters, the gnarled roots made a sculpture, a testament to the tree's tenacious and glorious life.
What kind of tree was it, and where had it lived? Probably on one of the many cliffs lining the lake, though it could have been washed down one of the area's rivers in a spring flood. How far had it traveled to be washed up on this particular shore, and from which direction?
How old had the tree lived to be? What caused it to die -- old age, or a storm that finally ripped the last of its vital roots from the bank?
Thus we ponder the sacred questions: What happened here? And what am I to learn from this? One photograph on a foggy evening, so many thoughts and feelings. The way it should be.
Photo location: Whitefish Point, Lake Superior, Luce County, Michigan.