I am a child, there is a tree, all trees then were high and mighty, not yet revealed to be weak, fragile things with lifespans like any human. The tree has pink feathers growing out of a profusion of branches; the leaves are shaped like fern leaves, although I have never seen a fern, as a child, it is only now that I assign the fern to the trees. I am very young, and in the tree I am invisible, and I am invincible. There is no creature of the earth or of the sky which can harm me. I am very, very young, I am too young to believe in fairy tales, I can only be afraid of material reality, things proven by my own experience to exist and to cause harm. In the tree, none of these things can harm me. None of these things exist except outside the canopy of pink feathers and ferns.
True Grit / Charles Portis
crisp clean tulips