Imagine a tree. Not a realistic one, but a jagged, impressionistic metal sculpture in the shape of a tree.

It's maybe 10 or 12 feet tall, the trunk 6 inches in diameter, the branches spindly and leafless.

Now imagine that instead of being a rusty brown or a shiny painted color, the

surface of the tree is the light pinkish beige of pale skin. Got it? Okay. Now imagine touching

the sculpture. It should be about the same temperature as the night air, and it should be the rigid texture

of iron or plastic, or maybe ceramic.

What it shouldn't do is breathe.

It shouldn't feel soft and yielding and warm to the touch.

It shouldn't sweat or have pores or body hair.

But of course, this one does.

And that's when I know it has to be Carson.