Walking alone through a Taipei park, I came across what looked to be a writer’s notebook wedged in the crotch of this tree. I could only guess it had slipped out of the poet’s pocket without him noticing and someone picked it up from the path and stuck it in the tree so it wouldn’t get trampled and ruined. Would the writer remember to come back to this place to look? I didn’t even think to steal a look at someone’s private words but took this photo and e-mailed it to an American poet I knew in Taipei who used the same kind of notebook. He wrote back it wasn’t one of his. I left for Taichung the following day.