Fall back and spring forward

Incongruous. A man in a white suit is standing in the top of a tall olive tree. The valley is verdant and lush. All around there are olive trees and citrus groves. The sky is bright and clear even though it is February. Wisp of smoke climb vertically from small bonfires all around. There is no movement in the air. In his hand he hold a japanese pull saw: another is stuck into his wide brown belt. From this  distance he looks like Fitzcarraldo  with a mane of white blonde hair and a manic smile. The sun catches his broad brimmed white hat as he hops goat-like from branch to branch sawing as he goes.

And suddenly he is gone. He falls backward, the ladder toppling left as he fall right. The wraparound sunglasses fly from his face as he hits the ground shoulders first and his head whips upward. They land 2 metres away. The saw is still grasped in his left hand: the other, smaller saw is still in his belt. HIs fall is broken by a palliasse of oxalis growing beneath the olive tree. Silence, Stillness.

He shakes his head. He moves his legs, glad that they are operational. He checks his legs. And then his arms. He catches his breath: the fall has clearly winded him. He rises to his feet and glances around to make certain that nobody saw him fall. He rubs the back of his head. And then he picks up the ladder and places it back on the tree, making sure this time that it is level, And he climbs back up into the tree with the saws both still in place. He continues.

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