Under the outstretched branches of a Black Cherry tree a man sits, cross legged, hands resting together in his lap. The low sitting fedora makes it hard to identify him, yet a quick once-over gives the impression when it comes to making money, he's no slouch. He may even be one of those connected sorts, the one's the newspapers keep flapping their pages about. But who's to say, and who's to know.

Every now and then he'll move a little, a slight sway, with the soft breeze that cuts underneath the protection the bitter-sweet tree offers. Otherwise he aims to keep a straight yet relaxed spine with as little movement as possible.

The tree is old, maybe much more mature than most that cross its path, the dark upturned scaly bark showing its longevity. In its time it's given much, and taken a little. The seasonal fruit has been used to flavour rums and brandy by old man Shepherd for years. The toxicity in its leaves and seeds also killed two of his dogs. But ain't that mother nature in a nutshell; she gives, and she takes.

It's home is within this indent in the common Streets, a small area of nature that a wandering soul may happen upon. Some shrubs and smaller trees line the wooden fences that partially box it in, giving life and shelter to birds and other local wildlife with this towering wild black cherry at the center. People pass, as do vehicles, possibly unaware to this nook's existence as they hurry about from task to task, checking off the next thing on their have-to-do and have-to-have lists.

Wise Guy was the same. He'd rush about on mission after mission with each jolt of enthusiastic logic. Yet until he'd unravelled this place, this slice of nature, it hadn't even occurred to him that all along he never knew his ass from his elbow. He was a slave to the grind, to the incessant stream of thoughts pumping his every action like pistons, clanking about inside his mind. Until he stopped, took a seat, and waited.

Sometimes another wandering soul makes it here too and they come across Wise Guy sitting with his back against the trunk, his attention turned inward. 

And some say if you toss him a tip, you might just get some Wise Guy advice. Good, bad, wise or foolish, who knows? There's only one way to find out...

With his eyes barely open and his gaze softly focused on the grass in front of him, Wise Guy noticed a pair of shoes through the small blurred slit in his vision. They were only there a brief moment, disappearing out of sight to the sound of a coin being flicked.

"Give a meditating man a tip, feed him for a day. Steal the meditating man's shoes and you walk away in a nice pair of Oxfords. Who dressed you, anyways? Helen Keller?"

In a corner of the nook, the metallic greens and reds of a pair of Ruby-Throated Hummingbird's iridescent wings shimmer as they hover over adjacent flowers, their long narrow beaks poking in at the nectar. The small stubby birds then zip away, darting towards and hovering in front of two unknown tippers. They quietly warn them that their bird feeder needs filling, their short presence the message, then swiftly move on.

Some gifts and more tips had been left next to the Cherry Tree, the tiny creatures poking in and around a bouquet of flowers and some chocolates gifted in an aluminium gold cigarette case, as Wise Guy acknowledged the visits.

"A watched pot may never boil, but if you sit still long enough a tumultuous mind will always settle."

The activity of birds in and around the tree caught the attention of another, a jet black short-haird cat poking its head over the fence. It's hungry eyes traced the flight of its desire, it's head flicking side to side, hoping, praying as it's tail swept excitedly along the backside of the fence.

With a shuffling of its hind legs and a low pose, it readied itself, then sprung up and over the top of the fence into the open air. It swiped and clawed and let off an inspiring battle meow. But alas, it caught nothing, disappearing into a dense snow covered thicket of sweet pepperbush and bottlebrush buckeye.

Shaking itself off, the feline wandered past Wise Guy, who'd received some more anonymous gestures of gratitude. The blurs of visitors came and went, and just like his feathered friend's imprints upon the infinite sky, they too left no trace, the elements covering their tracks soon enough.

"If you take a leap of faith, open up and let it all go, you might just lose it all. But you might just gain the whole world as you embrace the bottomless fall." Wise Guy said with a slight stretch, adjusting his posture.

An elaborately-woven wheel-shaped web suspends between multiple slender long branches just below the leafless canopy of the black cherry tree. It's the work of a large Orb Weaving spider, the golden sheen of the orb-shaped web matching her spiny bright yellow banded legs. Her motionless plum coloured body was hanging head down in waiting just off center. She'd somehow survived winter's first frost and was hoping to entangle something to devour with most of the web itself before the break of dawn. 

The strong silk web jiggled its alarm as a wasp struck the perimeter of the engineering marvel, its struggling vibrations reverberating throughout the intricate network including the threads that made up the protective outer barrier that helped to keep predators at bay.

Under the illumination of the moon, the spider moved in to paralyse her prey and wrap it in silk for later consumption. And under the tree itself sat Wise Guy, inwardly contemplating the human condition. More had journeyed his way during the daylight hours, one in particular showing his unabashed face. They'd come and gone, like all happenings eventually do, Wise Guy saying his latest insight aloud to the howling of a coyote in the distant darkness.

"Some say if faced with unhappiness born of mental entrapment, be more like water. Wise Guy say, turn water into liquor and get drunk. You will lose inhibitions and hopefully your virginity. Stop being sad; drink Gato's fine whisky or become more like Tony_Alacchi."

As the sun broke, the yellow jacket was gone. But so too was the golden orb weaving spider. It had been tricked into thinking the wasp was prey when it was in fact a predator, stinging and carrying it off during the moon lit devil's hour.

Under the new day's beckoning sunlight, the reflection of a greyish-brown mass rippled through a small stagnant puddle of water with each helping. Before the rut, his impressive branched-out bony antlers would be on full display. Now, it's scabbed scalp moved with each cause for concern as it alternated between drinking a little and staring towards noises coming from its surroundings. With each suspicious jerk of the head, the newly shed buck raised its tail showing its white underside.

Satisfied with its hydration, the male deer's tail gave a side-to-side flick as it slowly walked through the nook on its habitual well-worn trail. Coming across a low hanging dead limb from the cherry tree, he satisfyingly rubbed his forehead against the end, then his nose, then pawed at the earth under the branch scraping away debris and leaves. After leaving his scent in the newly disturbed spot he continued on, disappearing into the thick undergrowth the area provided.

The buck began to settle in for his usual fleeting sleep pattern of dozing and snapping to attention, his constantly swivelling ears on alert for the slightest out of place noise within the natural rhythms of the safety of the recess.

As the young buck finds his rest, Wise Guy opened his eyes and welcomed himself to the outer world once again. He was aware of the movement of more tippers passing through and yet found himself enraptured by the stillness he had lost himself in. They came and went as if waves in an infinite sea, there yet indistinguishable. And as with all happenings, that experience too was impermanent, his attention returning to being bodied under the tree again.

"In life there is no you, there is no me, no we and no I. It's all an illusion as we fret through building separate castles in the sky. As the ego falls away, a new you will dawn and take its place. Just don't forget to recognise that it's your own reflection mirrored in every face."

A very sudden and deafening crack reverberated through the haven. Birds immediately scattered, shrieking their displeasure and warning, the frantic clapping of their wings filling the void left by the decaying sound of the gunshot. A black cat darted off with them, rustling through bushes and scratching its way up and over a fence. Silence fell on the space once more but the damage had been done. 

A buck lay still in its bedding area, blood pouring out of the gaping wound in its neck, pooling onto the fertile ground under and around it. It was forever silenced. The damage, done.

Within the protection of the hollow of the trunk under the black cherry tree, there too was silence. Looking around, there was no-one to be found. Rumours of someone sitting cross-legged under the tree had spread and people came and went, leaving their expressions of gratitude for wandering off the beaten path behind.

A large shower bouquet of white roses, pink carnations and asparagus fern that flowed like a waterfall in its arrangement, an aluminium gold cigarette case of chocolates and scattered tokens that would soon enough be lost to the ever changing elements were all that remained. 

And if you looked even closer still, you might notice that a bit of the old tree's scaly bark had been worked over and a note was tucked securely inside...

A certain person came to a Friend's door and knocked. 

"Who's there?"

"It's me."

The Friend answered, "Go away. There's no place for raw meat at this table."

The individual went wandering for a year. Nothing but the fire of separation can change hypocrisy and ego. The person returned completely cooked, walked up and down in front of the Friend's house, gently knocked.

"Who is it?"

"You."

"Please come in, my Self. There's no place in this house for two."

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