Trees

Synopsis: The detailed description of an activity that I love, not only for what it is, but for those who perform it.

I think I can say that what I love most about him, by far, is the strangest feature.

He likes to climb trees.

I like it. I think I especially like the strangeness of the thing. It's a different, very unique hobby. It is funny.

I like to watch too. The real action is interesting.

First, he places his hands on the trunk, the skin in direct contact with the dry bark of the tree. He scratches his fingertips in rough care over its surface, measuring age and resistance. It is important to know the way you are going to venture. This is also a ritual of concentration, hands on the body of the plant and forehead against the wrists. He takes a deep breath once, twice.

I like the sound of his breathing, fast and strong. I like the color of his skin in contrast to the rest of the scene.

A little jump is necessary to get the momentum going. The knees are bent and the body is thrown upwards, floating in the air for thousandths, as if it could fly. Before returning to the ground, however, he interrupts gravity. And it takes a lot of strength. When he jumps and hugs the tree, it takes strength in every part of the body. He stands there, suspended for a second, clinging to the great trunk.

The next step is done with your hands. He grabs the nearest branch, being careful not to break it. The feet begin to support themselves in imaginary spaces, and the tree could easily be mistaken for a ladder. He touches the dirt-soaked sneakers on the trunk as if climbing steps, but all the strength is made by the arms hugging the rough skin of the tree as he throws himself higher, stretching his fingertips to grab the next branch and support his elbows where you can.

The body rises as if it had no weight, or as if all the strength in the world resided in the arms that pull it. He rises quickly, each move performed in a calculated way so as not to miss a beat or make a mistake. Falling from such a tall tree is not pleasant, and it borders on dangerous.

A bone could break with the ease that the weakest branch breaks when forced down. So experience is important, and he has that experience. He knows where to pick up, how to step, what strength is supported by his own hands and the tree that suddenly becomes an extension of his body. He knows the speed needed to climb without exhaustion making him falter at the most critical point.

He knows how to throw himself sideways, his feet reaching the arms of the plant where his weight will be light enough. He knows how to dance with his beloved trees, feeling his presence and his essence, fully capable of measuring how he should behave in front of the one in his hands. That's how he climbs any tree with admirable dexterity and agility, and in a few seconds he reaches the top.

From there he smiles, feet free in the air, sitting like a child on a swing. He looks down, one hand on the branch where he is and the other resting on the surface of the tree, as if to thank the host for his welcome. His eyes shine as brightly as the sun that shines light through the leaves. He lets out a childish laugh, happy for yet another success. Enjoy the view from afar, every corner of the city that you can see from that height. Standing at the top of the tree you climbed is an exercise in reward, an imaginary way to plant your flag on new soil and declare success. It is an accomplishment that he takes time to appreciate.

Then, after thanking him a few times and saying goodbye, he descends at almost the same speed he did. As soon as his feet land on the ground, he bows respectfully towards the tree and walks away from it. The adventure is over.

You will hardly try to climb the same tree twice. He knows that most of them allow you to reach the top just because they are paralyzed due to the great surprise of being used as a toy. Next time, the tree is always smarter, and is already waiting for the attempt as soon as it notices a presence. She will know how to break the right branch that will cause an inevitable and serious fall. Every tree becomes aware from the first time, so, after declaring victory over one, it seeks a next novice, some innocent plant that is distracted by the monotony of everyday life, so that it will not even notice when a delinquent approaches and tries take advantage of your spaces.

That's how he spends a lot of time, and that activity attracts me a lot. I see beauty in every moment of movement, I see the art behind the objective and the technique. Everything becomes very colorful when he concentrates that way, his eyebrows furrowed, a drop of sweat running down his forehead, his muscles contracted as he climbs up the branches. I love him the most when he is climbing trees and smiling from the top of them, cheerful. It's beautiful and I really love it.

Now, a final note on the detailed description of an activity that I love so much.

He never climbed trees. At least I never saw it. I don't know if he likes it, or if he's ever done it in his life. I just know that I don't know if it's true or not. I never saw any of that happen.

I never saw any of that, but I described every detail.

Why?

In the immensity of my love that is not defined, does not diminish and does not change for all the time spent in this life, I often feel the need to write about it. Him, who is my favorite person in the whole world. He, whom I love so much, and who for so much love tears out all words. Sometimes I really want to write about him, so much that I don't know what to write about, and without ideas I have only the incredible urgency and need to describe him in my poor words. I feel so overwhelmed by what I want to say and I don't know how I need to say anything. Anything goes.

Can be it. The activity of climbing trees, something I have never seen neither he nor anyone else do, but the poetry within me reinvents itself in real scenes and makes me see. I can describe something that never happened because creativity runs through my body until it arrives in written words. My love runs and makes up stories like this, which in a way are endless. And for him, who taught me to live independently of life and that every moment is dismissed, I can write a million words, even if they cannot be extended forever. Okay, I keep in my heart the certainty that my love does not end, and I will continue to love every characteristic of him, even those that do not exist and I invent, as his taste for climbing trees.

He never climbed a tree, but he might as well try.