Roccia

There was a rock high on the pine trees, above the hammocks. It was standing perfectly still, in balance between a couple of twigs, one side by the trunk, high from the ground. There was not visible sign of any launch, not any branch damaged; investigating about it could have been the result of a perfect throw,  something really unlikely to happens. Of course somebody could have climbed the tree to position the rock in that odd point -I guess with my abilities I might be able to do something like that-, but why a human being would be willing to carry such an uncomfortable object risking his own life on such a difficult climb between frail branches disposed in a way that keeps hard making the way trough? What was the meaning of this? Just creating mindfucks on the people chilling on the hammocks, wondering how something similar may happen? There was a lot to think about, my main though was that I was feeling on the same way that rock was, torn from its natural place to be positioned on a apparently safe spot, in truth, an extremely uncomfortable and precarious position, exposed to the will of the random to stay or fall. An overwhelming sense of discomfort, afraid of whatever may come, bewildered in a foreign environment, longing to fall from the reached point and embrace again my origin, not knowing where was that promised land that gave me birth.