This individual is so misshapen that I did not recognize it as a daimon at first. I simply stopped to admire what I thought to be a marvelously evocative, grown-together clump of trees and took a snapshot of it.
Only then did I see it move. Slowly, ponderously, it unwound its gnarled appendages from the branches overhead and released its grip on the trunk to its left; then its upper portion twisted in a manner that convinced me that it was turning to look at me. And I was suddenly gripped by a sense of alarm; not that I felt in any imminent danger -- I did not feel at all threatened by it -- but on the contrary, I felt I was guilty of trespassing, of doing something shameful; that I was an intruder in a place where I had no business being. And that by distracting the daimon I was interrupting something private, even sacrosanct.
Quickly I stepped back, turned the camera off and turned to continue on my way. Then, struck by a sudden impulse, I turned back toward the daimon, said "I'm sorry" and went back the way I came. Somehow it didn't seem right that I should continue blithely on my way as if this incident were simply an inconsequential distraction.
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