Although this tree, stripped entirely of its bark, no longer lies across the road that you can glimpse in the upper left corner, it reminded me on this poem by Robert Frost.
On a Tree Fallen Across the Road
The Tree the tempest with a crash of wood
Throws down in front of us is not to bar
Our passage to our journey´s end for good,
But just to ask us who we think we are.
Insisting always on our own way so,
She likes to halt us in our runner tracks,
And make us get down in a foot of snow
Debating what to do without an axe.
And yet she knows obstruction is in vain:
We will not be put off the final goal
We have it hidden in us to attain,
Not though we have to seize earth by the pole
And, tired of aimless circling in one place,
Steer straight off after something into space.