Tops of Trees

I was returning home from lunch on an otherwise uneventful Friday last week. Unlike most of the days, I wasn’t listening to music or texting someone while walking. Not habits I’m proud of, or would write about in my autobiography. As I was walking with my senses wide awake to the world around me (or, as people from before the smartphone addiction age would call it, just walking), I heard a rather unusual and violent sound over my head. It was a red squirrel, jumping between the branches and playing cheerfully in the brightly lit, breezy day. The mild panic of something falling from the sky on my head soon changed into a yearning to feel what the little red squirrel must be feeling and curiosity about what my street must look like from the treetops. And while I was staring at the action, I realized something strange: I don’t ever look at the top of trees. It is such a strange part of my surroundings. I am either looking straight ahead, or at the ground ten feet in front of me as I…