Martin Buber Encounters an Oak Tree

It stands alone in a field of tall, yellow grass.
He is just out of its reach, shunning its shade for the bright, skin-leathering sun.
Martin imagines a seed falling from the sky and crashing into the soil with the force of--what to call it?--pure being. It sends a tree sprouting up like a mushroom cloud; full growth in 30 seconds, standing somewhere outside of time,
outside of space,
outside of Martin.
He peels away the dissecting sections of his analytical intellect like so many layers of rain soaked clothing.
He watches his silver blue soul slide out of himself, into the grizzled gray brown bark.