Occasionally, forest creatures would gather about the base of the tree.  They chittered and squeaked in frivolous tones.  Paris would join them on occasion,  and screech and jabber, so he would not feel so lonesome in his tree. He communed with the squirrel, the fox, and the badger.  They fed him with the banality of groundspeak and casualness of idle banter.  This allowed him to relax in his loft of limbs. He was content knowing that he did not have to permanently dwell with this perpetual cacophony.

On other occasions, the winged creatures would visit his abode.  The eagle soared onto his windowsill and silently joined him in his contemplation.  The jay alighted on the balustrade, trilling treble from its beak, and announcing its carefree sentiments.  The cardinal would arrive with colorful announcement, somberly projecting his majesty in the living room. All manner of airfolk graced the eaves of Paris’s dwellings, reminding him of the soaring grace his form would never achieve.  And, with turn and loft, they punctuated his inability to simply fly from troubles as they arose.

But a balance was understood.  For Paris needed not the prattle of the ground, yet was humbled by the majesty of the air.  And into his treehouse he melded his emotions along with the support of the tree.  This tree was the  strength he relied upon for balance as well as succor.

Paris made attempts to understand the way that the world had assimilated him, as well as where his contributions would have impact.  He played music to the groundscreatures and spoke eloquently to the skydwellers.  Yet both vacated his treehouse in time, and neither brought him lasting sustenance.

So Paris survived by scrounging in the forest for morsels of acorn, plant matter and berries.  He searched fervently and desperately, in hopes of finding a supportive and sustaining morsel to bolster his existence in the treehouse.

But the forest was littered with scraps of sadness and detritus of despair.  And Paris could not live from this.

So he reached for the sky, and received only shreds.  Scraps of freedom wrenched from the talons of a fledgling flier were the rewards of desperate gesturing.  And the feathered creatures brought him bones and stares of condescension, nothing close to anything that could be survived upon.

And when Paris was most emaciated, most hunger pang stricken, and most desperate at his core, did the humans come wandering near his tree.

They wondered, and pondered, and prodded, and persisted, and imposed their needs.  They wanted to help him!  And, they had the answers!  They insisted that he shouldn’t need his treehouse and his isolation.

” We can surely ease your hunger!”

“We care about you Paris!”

“It’s only out of love that we seek to free you of your treehouse”

Being alone in his treehouse had apparently struck some as bizarre, and groupthink had encouraged some to act.

Paris was unsure, and the treehouse was his home.  And though his home was a refuge and solace from troubling thoughts, a feeling of longing and compulsion toward these similarly structured persons prevailed.  Perhaps these people might have food to ease his cravings.

But when Paris descended from his treehouse he was beset upon by the visitors with sharp implements that they had hidden from him.

He was stung by shivs in his chest and slandered with soul wrenching anger.   He was battered and berated by torturous banter. He was pierced deeply by inconsiderate, hateful, viciousness from these invaders.  He wasn’t like these people, he felt things in a different manner, and then wanted only to resume his perch where his self-doubt and melancholy were contained by his treehouse.

But the onslaught continued.  The flood of viciousness unending, and the tirade of torture, interminable.

Paris fled from this, back to the sanctuary of his tree house.  But his life-force stained the rope ladder as he climbed.  And he cursed himself for opening himself  to the crowd as he weakened

“Was it because I placed myself in the treehouse? Did my uniqueness create hatred? I only wanted to be comfortable in my place in the world” he thought.

But his body expired, and in time became part of the treehouse, which in time became part of the tree.  And the tree nourished the winged creatures with its fruits.  And the tree gave shelter to the forest creatures on the ground.

And Paris had his place.