Once in a while when I was a child, I would go back to the same place and climb the same tree when I wanted to be alone. Standing at five meters above the grass floor, I used to gaze at my surroundings while the bright sun slowly turned into a flickering flame. The tree I was used to stand on was an old oak that has been struck by lightning and cut in half. The upper part of it was still weakly linked to the lower body but part of it was now laying on the floor, a tempting but far too risky way of climbing it. A much safier pathway was to use the thick brown creepers surrounding and strangling the lower part of the tree. Once at the top, I would witness an outstanding spectacle : below me, the floor was covered with dark green hollies beaded with their notorious red berries and mushrooms from so many different kinds. Pillars of the copse, majestic oaks had their branches joining each other's in a giant-like handshake while their thin leaves were floating in the kind spring wind everywhere like an alive mist. I can still hear to this day the humming of the bees and the choir of birds singing in a chaotic but pleasant concert. Every little part of the surroundings felt like it was belonging to an even larger being peacefully getting some rest and as long as the broken oak allows me to stand on it, I will get mine in this place as well.
