Fifty Feet Tall

A boy stood on the clifftop. I could see him clearly from my spot, crouched just under the tops of soaring pines and oaks. He looked young, no more then twenty or twenty-one. He stood near the edge of the cliff, snapping pictures from the camera in his hands. He didn't seem to be scared of the height. The hikers rarely did, really.
A girl's voice called to the hiker, urging him to let them leave. He took a moment, collecting a few more photos before he had to leave.
The boy began to turn, probably giving in to following his partner. I began to stand, my head beginning to push the tops of trees away to allow me to straighten. The boy must have glimpsed something, as he turned back to the drop and squinted in my direction. I immediately recoiled, my head ducking back under the cover of branches. I wrapped my hand fully around a thick oak tree, trying to support myself so I wouldn't fall and cause a disturbance. The boy had seen something, and I knew it.
After a moment of staring back into the forest below, the boy turned back to the path and followed his companion out of sight.
I breathed out a sigh of relief. He hadn't seen, or he hadn't pursued his sighting, at least.
After a brief pause for safety, I reached up with my long, skeletal hands, parting the fifty foot trees with one hand easily as if they were only leaves.