He sat and looked.
he drank it in.
watched it shimmer.
It's gold and sparkling, brown and green.
standing very tall and impressive, a show off really, but subtly.
limbs falling and scattering, twisting, reaching and swaying.
tumbling across the sky.
up and down. accross and through itself.
pushing away from him.
toward him as well, which is odd.
He was cross-legged. sat amongst the grass.
a hand gently picking at
the dandelions and sticks and dirt.
(twirling them amogst his fingers and
stopping every so often to tear them in two or three or four).
a glance toward it's trunk.
it's so thick!
it's so rough!
it's so...
eyes wondering across it and up it and then down it again.
concerning and discerning and calculating and diliberating.
He patted the grass goodbye.
And replaced the torn dandelion heads next to their old bodies.
His eyes focused.
Where to start?
A foot, a hand, a finger, and knee.
Slowly and carefully he began to climb.
I'm so high!
I'm so far!
He stopped. And looked.
Everything has changed, everything is different.
What if i fall? What if i break my leg? Or Back? Or face?
Nerves. And fear. Sudden terror and a hint of a question of
what exactly he was thinking of before he started this awful business.
oh my! oh my! oh no! oh my!
Legs quivering. And arms. And head.
(He was a foot from the ground at this point).
A second. A moment.
The wind touched his face.
feathered his lips and smoothed his cheeks.
Virtigo over, he carried on climbing.
Persepective altering.
Brain focused.
Arms and Legs moving on, up and along and sometimes.
A bit down again which was quite annoying.
The trunk gave way to branches.
Clutching and hugging, he side stepped across.
He saw his destination.
It was perfect.
Perfect for sitting (just don't look down quite yet).
Closer and closer, a leg trembled. An arm twitched.
Fingers clasping, then sliding.
Stop.
He sat down again.
But this time it wasn't with the dandelions.
He looked through the branches and the leaves.
His fingers clasped the trunk (just checking it was still there).
The sun warmed his forehead.
His nose, his neck, and a bit of his left shoulder.
The leaves cast patterns and shapes all over the rest of him.
They looked a bit like hands, which is nice.
And then the wind washed his face.
Cooled his body and his mind.
His heart raced when he took it all in.
Everything. All of it.
It really is all much more different, he thought.
When your'e sat up in a tree.
