Friday, 16 January 2009

• I ran my fingers across the bark, feeling it fall into the crevices between them, and down my sleeve. I put one shoe up, gripped harder, and began my journey. The branches ran their spindly fingers down my neck and back, begging me not to continue, for fear I might break them.
  
  I just continued to climb.
  
  I reached the semi-top and found a niche that suited me perfectly. I looked around. The middle-aged me pulled into the mapped out driveways, the dogs barked their welcome, and the sun began to set.
  
  I was huge.
  
  The birds came, but went when I whistled 'hello.' As people drove by, I was safe in the arms of this old, dead, tree. The fingers closed around me and made a bubble. Everyone could look at me, but no one could see me.
  
  Here I am tall, here I am looked at, here I am, up.
  
  Grown, maybe. But mostly just up.
  
  Here I am.
  
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