Wednesday, February 10, 2010

A Lofty Perch

Your seat is of twisted wood, in the fork of a mighty tree. The bark is smooth and the wood is a rich red-brown.

The wind through the trees sounds like a river and brings with it the smell of damp earth and water. It brushes against your face, cool and fresh.

Down bellow you are twisting branches which reach up past you to support the canopy above. Leaves block your view around you and stretch above you. The leaves are a deep rich green which blocks almost all the light.

The dim space under the canopy closes in around you and the branches seem like paths. They entice you out along them and into the unknown. You look out along one branch, following its twists and turns with your eyes until you lose it in the leaves.

You look back now to your own seat, and though the bark is smooth beneath you it is rough in other places. Your fingers journey across it, wondering what landscape they'll find.

You are brought back to the real world by a voice calling your name. With a sigh you begin the slow decent from your lofty perch.

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