Nature's Jungle Gym
About twice a day, I head out to the patio at Wachovia to breathe free air. It's glorious to feel the sun on my fluorescent pale skin. For five minutes I feel like a lion stretching in the hot African sun. The other day as I savored the patio, I looked up into a full, lush, green tree. It wasn’t very tall so I could see into the middle of this dense dark green cave of branches and leaves. Like a dog’s instinct to chase a ball, I found myself having to fight the urge to climb into the middle of the tree.
I love trees. I think it steams the fact that at one point in my life I was a boy. I know trees can be quite stoic, but they are also magical and can be quite playful. They hold tree houses, monkeys, pirates and the Lost Boys. There is mystery in trees. It’s the place where double agent Ninja spies lurk and wait to jump on the emperor’s men as they kidnap the kindly peasants. It’s where the Navajo climb to scan the horizon for buffalo to hunt and feed their families for the coming winter. It can be the mast of a British warship on the way to fight Napoleon’s fleet off the coast of Trafalgar. A tree can be your imaginations best friend.
As I jumped up and grabbed a hold of the first big branch, I could feel the darts from the blow guns hitting the tree below my feet. Thwack, thwack, as I swung around to be on the other side of the main trunk. I climbed higher to be further out of range. It must have been those guys from network. I could see their heads popping up from behind the picnic table. It’s a good thing I never leave my cubicle without my paintball hand grenades. I waited for the next Ethernet geek to lift his head, and I tossed three blue bombs in rapid fire from my lofty green hideout. They never saw them coming as descruction landed on all sides, spraying everyone within 15 feet with bright blue paint. There was some collateral damage, one of the QA Analysts caught some blue shrapnel, but hey, war is hell.
I love trees. I think it steams the fact that at one point in my life I was a boy. I know trees can be quite stoic, but they are also magical and can be quite playful. They hold tree houses, monkeys, pirates and the Lost Boys. There is mystery in trees. It’s the place where double agent Ninja spies lurk and wait to jump on the emperor’s men as they kidnap the kindly peasants. It’s where the Navajo climb to scan the horizon for buffalo to hunt and feed their families for the coming winter. It can be the mast of a British warship on the way to fight Napoleon’s fleet off the coast of Trafalgar. A tree can be your imaginations best friend.
As I jumped up and grabbed a hold of the first big branch, I could feel the darts from the blow guns hitting the tree below my feet. Thwack, thwack, as I swung around to be on the other side of the main trunk. I climbed higher to be further out of range. It must have been those guys from network. I could see their heads popping up from behind the picnic table. It’s a good thing I never leave my cubicle without my paintball hand grenades. I waited for the next Ethernet geek to lift his head, and I tossed three blue bombs in rapid fire from my lofty green hideout. They never saw them coming as descruction landed on all sides, spraying everyone within 15 feet with bright blue paint. There was some collateral damage, one of the QA Analysts caught some blue shrapnel, but hey, war is hell.
Out on the patio, my feet where standing on the ground, but my soul was wrapped in green leaves up in the tree. I hope one day soon, they are both on a high branch looking for pirates off the coast of Mozambique.
posted by Unknown at
8:54 PM
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