The Old Oak Tree (Part 2)

The boy stood again, his hands searching for new grip as he rose up the tree. The bark here was more weathered, the grooves deeper, and as he moved, his palms left faint marks on the surface. He could feel the hum of the tree beneath his hands, the deep resonance in the wood vibrating through his fingertips. It was as though he was feeling the tree’s heartbeat, slow and steady, just like his own. The leaves seemed to whisper as he brushed past them, a soft rustle that was part of the forest’s breath.

His own breath was quiet now, steady and deep, matching the slow rise of his body through the branches. The wind tugged at his shirt, but it was still cool, a contrast to the warmth building in his chest. As he passed through the leaves now, they seemed softer, more delicate. The branches here were thinner, trembling slightly in the breeze, but still strong enough to hold him. He moved with care, every motion deliberate, fluid.

Then, at last, he reached it. The final stretch. The trunk narrowed, the branches thinned, and the air seemed to shift, becoming sharper, colder. The world below him was already distant, the sounds muffled by thick canopy. He reached for the final branch, one that jutted out like a low arm offering its hand to the sky. His fingers wrapped around it, cool and solid. With a final push, he hauled himself into the crown of the tree.

For a moment, he simply sat there, hands resting against the branch, chest rising and falling in slow breaths. The view opened before him, endless rows of trees stretching out in every direction, the ground below a mere memory. The sky above was pale, touched with streaks of early sunlight, and for a moment, the boy felt as though he could reach out and touch it. His legs dangled, feet not quite touching the branches below.

He closed his eyes, feeling the air, the warmth of the sun, the steady sway of the tree beneath him. From up here, the world felt bigger, more alive, yet at the same time, quieter. The ache in his arms and legs no longer mattered. The climb was over, but the feeling, the thrill of it, the connection to the tree, to the sky, to the view, lingered in his chest. And that view, it would never be enough.