Look at me.
The air is cool. I shuffle my feet in the grass. My shoes squeak a little because it’s wet. I laugh. There are trees all around me. It’s pretty. I look up at the sun. It’s bright, so I squint.
Boy. Look at me.
There are no clouds. At least I can’t see any clouds. No birds either. No sound but me and the trees. They’re talking to each other. I close my eyes and imagine what they’re saying. They speak with the wind. I’d like to talk to trees with the wind.
Look over here, boy. Look at me.
It’s cool. I wish I’d brought my jacket. I wonder if the trees are telling me that? They have bark. Nice and warm. I wish I was a tree. It must be nice in the sun. I feel it on my face. I imagine I’m a tree, too. I pretend I can photo-sintha-sizer. It feels good.
Look. At. Me. Now. Boy.
I shiver. It’s chilly, but I don’t want to leave. The trees are talking to me. I can feel the wind whispering in my ear. It’s kind of scary, but the trees are trying to warn me. What is it, trees? What is it?
What do you want, trees? Run? Why? Where?
I don’t run. I open my eyes. It’s time to go. I turn around. I look at the tre—
What is that, trees?