Because, after rain, it smells like green tea his mother brews on
slow mornings, because he likes the view of the world upside down
from this height, he hooks his legs around the topmost branch of
the world's sixth-largest Douglas fir. Fidelito has a mission. There is
a certain grace with trees, he thinks, and hanging from one for a
long time will show him how little he needs his legs, whether his
dreams are different, whether he is closer, the way mountains or
skyscrapers or even Douglas firs scratch the back of the sky.
If Fidelito is part of the order of back-scratchers he will know simply
by hanging around until slowly his blood, in an act of defiance,
rouses itself from his feet and leaves in a procession down the
arteries of his knees, marching, red ants renewing their contract
with gravity, and dizzy, Fidelito lets go.
-Oliver de la Paz