I’ve felt this tree before.
I wak alone on a bumpy road flanked on both sides by a wall fence. A wall caked in algae. I decide against taking a nasty path leading to a short cut through a swamp. I take the long way to my temporary home.
I look back on those days with a strange extro-introspection that I was sleepwalking through life. I can feel my blank gaze then, automated limb coordination, and hundreds of routes taking me in circles.
Every now and then, I get flashbacks of those moments with emphasis on how I felt then. It’s usually a song or the weather, or a particular shade of blue of the sky that day.
I get a flash of a beautiful feeling and a place where I may have felt a similar way in the past. It’s more likely that the mental image simply fits the mood.
Something about tree photography. Not real-life trees. It makes me want to bow down on my hands and knees in worship. To twist my body, bend it until the sensation leaves me.
It’s similar to desire. Except desire catches me off-guard, paralysis sets in, and I wish to hide. Sometimes, I hide. Other times, I stand there imagining I had been brave.
This worship sensation, this I can act on.
Many childhood adventures I accepted without a thought, but tree climbing was the exception.
I hid behind them, dangled from ropes tied to their branches, rested under them, and threw stones at their fruit.
I admired those whose feline traits appeased dead cats’ ghosts.
A tree and desire, the former can not endure, and the latter can not be stopped by an inert body staring, wishing, or hoping. Before long, both get bigger, and fear overruns you.
Years go by. You never take the leap. Whether for glory or love.
That’s, after all, how falling in love happens.
You get acquainted with the tree. You climb, feel the sturdiness of the branches, touch the fruit, and look at the world from up here.
You get down. Everything has changed. You know the tree and the tree knows you. The ground has missed you…
Reality springs back up with noisy footsteps.
Someone calls out. The lost-and-found smitten smile on your lips embarasses you.
You look down and gasp!
The cheeky tree caught your skirt in its branches on your way down!
Before you can cover up and school your countenance, the voice sounds behind you.
It takes two glances and a third long one inspecting your surroundings to communicate the wrong impression.
You wish to say,
"There was no one! The tree branch...I wasn’t paying attention... I don’t know how it happened..."
The tree sways as if amused by your predicament.
You knew better than to ignore warnings against climbing their kind.
The voice hardens.
"I never want to see you around here again."
Something about tree photography makes me want to bow in worship. To twist my body and bend until the sensation falls away like leaves.
The tree knows me, and I it.
