No thicker than a grain. No wider than a foot. Stretched between trunks, clinging to them, tense.
I sway on it, a human scarecrow. I speak into the virtual world:
Get Rafał Górecki’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
— Beneath me and around, their crevices, they stare at me! Am I to be their meal?
The algorithm in my earbuds answers:
“How much I’d give to feel that palette of sensations: racing pulse, dilated pupils — you see sharper, legs trembling like an earthquake — all of this when you look down. What’s wrong with that?”
Chase your dreams, scarecrow. Beneath you — just green grass.
