
Spirit Tree
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Thick fog rolled in that afternoon, blanketing the range and swallowing the trail behind me. I was high up in the Snowy Mountains of New South Wales, and the temperature dropped fast. Rain showers came and went, pushed by a biting wind that made it feel even colder than it was. My fingers were numb, lips stinging, and just focusing the camera became a task in itself.
That’s when I saw it.
This tree slowly emerged from the mist, twisted, weathered, almost human in its form. There was something in the way it stood, like it had presence. Like it knew I was there. I don’t know how to explain it exactly, but it felt like it was reaching out.
I took the photo. Then I just stood there, quietly, as the fog closed in again.
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Thick fog rolled in that afternoon, blanketing the range and swallowing the trail behind me. I was high up in the Snowy Mountains of New South Wales, and the temperature dropped fast. Rain showers came and went, pushed by a biting wind that made it feel even colder than it was. My fingers were numb, lips stinging, and just focusing the camera became a task in itself.
That’s when I saw it.
This tree slowly emerged from the mist, twisted, weathered, almost human in its form. There was something in the way it stood, like it had presence. Like it knew I was there. I don’t know how to explain it exactly, but it felt like it was reaching out.
I took the photo. Then I just stood there, quietly, as the fog closed in again.