From The Tree

Part 1: Early Birds

Warm, sunny, a few stray fluffy clouds lounging in the sky. Trees rustling only occasionally in the sleepy snores of the breeze. A bright yellow flower flutters as a bee finishes with its gathering, bumbling away to a neighbouring blossom elsewhere in the suburban backyard. One of many in this older, more out of the way community.

Some were well taken care of, loved. Filled with pretty flowers, green grass, or fruits and vegetables. On occasion, even a tree. Many others were, well, less elaborate and well kempt. Fences crisscrossed the district, white, with flat tops. And along one particularly aged stretch scurried a very furry and very aspiring sneak-thief named Francis.

Francis was a squirrel. A Red squirrel to be exact, and he was more of a light brown truth be told. With a long bushy tail that flowed behind him in a wave as he scampered. He knew the fences by another, more appropriate name amongst his kind. The Picketway. And right now, he was approaching the corner of Copperton Trail and Michelson Way. Ambling towards his final destination off of Henderson Drive. Francis always enjoyed this stretch of the picketway, tall bushes lining either side. Their branches waved hello in the breeze, courteously offering him a cool slice of shade from the hot sun, and any hawks that may be lurking above. Hedges were well known for their hospitality, and proud of it too. Sometimes they even gave him a fresh raspberry on his way.

Approaching a certain knot in the wood, he knew his turn off was close. Ahead was a small tree with sickly looking white branches. He had arrived at his destination on the right. Digging his claws into the white painted wood, he took a breath, steadied himself, and looked down over the edge towards the jagged red chunks of shale below. Crawling head first, the tree concealing his movements, he inched forward. One intrepid paw after another. Ears swivelling, listening for danger while the air tickled his whiskers. Sharp rustles emanated from the brambles around him, the little squirrel froze, much like his heart. A fluttering of wings accompanied the cheerful chirp of the sparrow who owned them. Francis breathed a sigh of relief, sparrows are very friendly, and also fond of peanut butter.

The cool chalky texture of the faded red shale felt nice beneath his paws. Scraping lightly as the dry stones slid over one another, Francis had gotten used to their looseness. He remembered the first time he stepped down here, though he wished he didn't. Scrambling, slipping, and falling on his belly? Phew... the only good thing about that experience was that no one was around to see it.

This property was a bit out of the way, part of one of the founding districts of the town, and it looked it too. The lawn generally conformed to the theory of what could be described as neatly mown... though it might opt to use a, perhaps, less up to date picture of itself if it wanted to attract any meadows over the Wood Wide Web. But it did smell nice.

The hairs on his back stood on end as he skulked his way through the grass. Ears perked, whiskers tingling. His whole body was tensed and every sense was sharpened to a needle's point. His approach was different this time, coming from the north fence. He'd learned the dangers of trying to climb the tall side of the deck on the west. The narrow stretch of grass between it and the fence was less a shortcut and more an enticing trap when conditions were right. That's what he told himself as he took in the green flatness around him, he was exposed, vulnerable, his whole body rejected it yet he pressed on. It was just a little further to the deck.

He neared the first stair, pausing a moment to check his own sanity for embarking on this endeavour. Reaching out his left paw, laying it flat on the warm wood, he concluded that he was quite mad. He knew that, but one must be mad to have any hope of achieving greatness. Clenching his fingers, claws biting into the soft surface. He pulled himself up in a flurry, before his mind had time to second guess itself. Up the first stair, then the second, finally the third landed him on the lower platform. He paused again, sniffing the air, heart pounding. He heard nothing but the leaves swaying, the distant sound of a car engine on an adjoining avenue.