Pointing the Way

It’s late morning at a reservoir tucked in the rolling hills of Three Rivers, California. The water is smooth, glassy, and perfectly clear, reflecting a single oak tree standing at the edge. The tree and its mirror image in the water align so precisely they form a flawless arrow—branches and trunk joining to a distinct point, almost like a sign drawn by nature. The hills are alive with spring: bursts of bright green grass, wildflowers flashing yellow and orange, all spilling down to the water’s