The bald cypress is a mysterious tree. When rooted in muck, it often grows buttresses called knees. No one is certain if the knees primarily support the trunk or allow the roots to breathe. And then there are the fall colors.
Thick stands of sawgrass line the edge of Chocowinity Bay and forms islands that define the banks of Sidney Creek and Chocowinity Creek. In the early morning summer sun they shine like fields of gold but in winter, they become brittle as straw.
Fog transforms the ordinary into something extraordinary, something unexpected.
Sidney Creek lies only ¾ mile from my house on the shore of Chocowinity Bay, but the short paddle is a transition between worlds.
There is only one tree with knees and no one knows why.
What are the possibilities of seeing and thinking without eyes or brain? What sense of self might be distributed across a network of roots and fungi? And how is time perceived by an individual whose life spans centuries?
