As I debrief from working with the Twigs at Twilight and let them sit on their branches for a rest, I’m back to walking the meadow, living my life as it goes, and listening to the MossWhispers that come my way. Part of my listening comes through my eyes as well. On my way up from the Hillocks (for there are many in the meadow), I usually make my final winded steps over the roots of a large oak tree near our house. As on many tree trunks, wooden floors, and just about any rough surface, I see faces…and each face immediately shares part of its story. Most of these stories roll around in my own head, and perhaps sift through my own facial expressions. Here are just a few.