In the open water I saw a snail turning end over end.

“Poor snail,” I thought. “It has lost grip of its reference and is now freefloating.”

I then realized that perhaps it was not a snail. Perhaps it was a rock. I hoped it was not a rock, because I was attached to the metaphor of the snail.

But I was more attached to the truth and so, tentatively, I moved my finger toward the floating object. To my shock, it was neither a snail nor a rock. It was a leaf.