I am a-

Pulling yourself up to the tallest branches, you look down, marveling at the heights this humble fig tree has reached. The branches are thin up here. You are afraid you will fall. You feel yourself sway. You are up with the clouds now. With the birds and the endlessly deep sky. You almost feel, that if you let go now, you will fall up instead of down, tumbling out into space, through the burning of the atmosphere, head over heels into the stars, or the city lights, depending on how you look at it. You look up, you look down. Down, at the fermenting figs on the grass, that soon will attract tipsy bees and all the pomp of decay. You look at the branches around you, there are no figs up here. Your stomach rumbles.