Talking with the Old Oak

"How can we know for certain," I asked the old oak, "that those are your branches reaching up to scratch the sky? And not your roots, in some weird, inverted universe?"

The sky and snow-covered ground look to be one and the same to my early morning eyes.

"But then my acorns—here's one plonking your head now—would be falling upward, would they not?" answered the oak.

"True. But let me see your roots, then, just to be sure," I replied.

"You don't really want that now, do you?"

"No, I suppose not."

"It is good that you see alternatives to this reality, my friend. But you should also know that there is reality that is real, yet unseen," the oak said.

"Like your roots?" I asked.

"Yes, and yours, too," came the oak's final reply.