A letter to a friend
I wrote this months ago for Tyler, but never got around to typing it out. He read the original hand written version instead. Still its message stuck around in the back of my skull, lurking among the cobwebs and discarded, gap toothed gears of my clockwork brain. Something came up that refreshed the memory of it on me.
So here you go,
It’s like walking around with sore feet on a blazing summer day. You spot an impressive fir with the perfect shaded grassy spot to sit for a few ticks under it. You walk over to find a cute young innocent looking child starring up into the tree branches, tears streaming from cry puffy eyes. You can’t help but ask what’s wrong. The child says its fluffy kitten escaped and got stuck in the tree. Would you, Could you please help?
Not being a misanthrope, you agree, take off your jacket, roll up your sleeves and precariously climb the tree. Your skin is scratched and torn at. You get leaves and twigs in uncomfortable places. With luck you wont slip and catch a branch between the legs, but luck is never on your side. Finally you see the kitten has placed itself in just the right spot to be nothing but frustrating to retrieve. You soldier on risking more serious harm, maybe deluding yourself into thinking it’s a character building moment. Then success, you snag the little ball of fur to feel it sink needle sharp claws and fangs into the flesh of your hand. The footing you thought secure gives way and down, down, down you go abusive branches once allies in your accent slapping your face all the way. The ground is never soft.
Broken of body, emotions, maybe spirit, perhaps soul you pick yourself up and with triumphant smile return fluffy. You’re thanked and retire to the shady spot that brought you here to bleed. The child prances and cappers around, all is happy all is well. Then the child scoops up the precious kitten and punts it back into the highest branches of the tree. It comes to you with teary doe eyes and whines for its kitten to be returned.
Somehow, all this is your fault. You did decide to sit under the tree.
With love.
So here you go,
It’s like walking around with sore feet on a blazing summer day. You spot an impressive fir with the perfect shaded grassy spot to sit for a few ticks under it. You walk over to find a cute young innocent looking child starring up into the tree branches, tears streaming from cry puffy eyes. You can’t help but ask what’s wrong. The child says its fluffy kitten escaped and got stuck in the tree. Would you, Could you please help?
Not being a misanthrope, you agree, take off your jacket, roll up your sleeves and precariously climb the tree. Your skin is scratched and torn at. You get leaves and twigs in uncomfortable places. With luck you wont slip and catch a branch between the legs, but luck is never on your side. Finally you see the kitten has placed itself in just the right spot to be nothing but frustrating to retrieve. You soldier on risking more serious harm, maybe deluding yourself into thinking it’s a character building moment. Then success, you snag the little ball of fur to feel it sink needle sharp claws and fangs into the flesh of your hand. The footing you thought secure gives way and down, down, down you go abusive branches once allies in your accent slapping your face all the way. The ground is never soft.
Broken of body, emotions, maybe spirit, perhaps soul you pick yourself up and with triumphant smile return fluffy. You’re thanked and retire to the shady spot that brought you here to bleed. The child prances and cappers around, all is happy all is well. Then the child scoops up the precious kitten and punts it back into the highest branches of the tree. It comes to you with teary doe eyes and whines for its kitten to be returned.
Somehow, all this is your fault. You did decide to sit under the tree.
With love.