I am high up in the air, far above the ground. I am in a tree, or rather, supported by two of them. These two trees are my anchors, my support, my lifelines. Yes, it is true that I am on belay, but that does not feel the same. The pull of the rope is merely physical, the pull of the trees is spiritual, beckoning me to climb further, to use them, to work with them. From eighty five feet up in the air, swaying gently to and fro, things look different. There is not a building to be seen. Distinct trails made for humans to walk on blend in with the rest of the ground. My friends are minuscule compared to the trees. They call my name with cheer and encouragement, but unlike the trees, their voices are not strong and resounding. it is quiet up here. Few voices reach, there are no machines or crashes and clangs of industry. i can hear my breath, feel my heart. it is a disturbance to the whisper of the wind, birds chirping, leaves rustling. Yet I am not an intruder, as the trees are welcoming. They invite me to marvel in their beauty. Stare in awe at the surrounding forest. I do, but only for a moment. Then, again I must go down and hit the ground.
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