'The time of cruel miracles is not past.' This is the last sentence of 'Solaris' by Stanislaw Lem and the first line of 'Imperial Orifices' by Kosmolith. Years ago, my father rescued the trunk of a 100-year old olive tree from a huge municipal firewood pile. The log lay drying for more than ten years at our house. Even dry it was phenomenally heavy. One day I split the log, which was deeply cracked to the heart and had actually dried very well, and cut some boards from it for making a liquor cabinet. At a point on the trunk where a large branch had grown, there was wild figure deep within the wood. Bookmatching the boards, the face of a stag suddenly appeared, looking sombrely at me with eyes that were knots, not eyes- but eyes they were.