“I had lain down in a thick mat of snow and was thinking that the big leafless beech tree above me looked strangely like a leaf, its trunk a stem, its branches nodes… when [my son] plopped down beside me with his red nose and cheek, silent except for his breath labored from sledding. We lie there until the sky clears, and the woods turn a bit blue. Then, stirring, he asks: “Do leaves dream, too?””