Under The Canopy And then it occurred to me. Or at least I think it did. Not much had ever occurred to me; maybe it was my tree, or that I was way up above the canopy by now. Anyway I had had an idea. If I could just grab the attention of the buds on the limb below me, then we could take the afternoon wind and we'd be on the floor in no time. The idea of being "on the floor" had been bouncing around my bunch for months now. The very thought of landing safely on the forgiving ground and being away from the constraint of the tree appealed to us all. I wasn't normally regarded as the one with all the great ideas. My previous two attempts (the vault and the abstinence schemes) failed and were ignored before a fair trial respectively. However, this time I was sure. We waited the afternoon out with gossip and snacking on the rich sup-tropical sunlight. At this point I was overcome by quaking nervousness, eager to impress but terrified of failure. After all, this was the first sure-fire attempt which could end fatally. Then came the winds. I had trembled through the winds so many times that they had become boring, yet any visiting sycamores or spores found them frivolous enough. I waited for them to pick up a notch, and then I glanced at the bird-of-paradise flower buds below me. They raised their heads arrogantly with the wind, nonchalant as all buds do. "When I give the signal-" I was cut short by an anomalous gust that sent me rocking like a cradle. Thankfully my neighbour to my left, Reg, stopped me. I was initially surprised because we hadn't been on speaking terms for as long as I can remember. `I guessed that it was because I appeared to be the dominant of the two. I had asked a couple of times but he didn't answer. Having steadied myself, I asked some leaves to rearrange themselves underneath us. They did so reluctantly, and needed some gentle persuasion from the winds to move. Everything was in place, and I ceased clenching and bid the tree farewell. Subject to the wind, we started swaying. Before long, we were fleeing here and there, and the stem sustained critical wounds, until at last... The bough faded amongst the underbelly of the canopy as we fell gracefully. I had not anticipated the sensation of falling; there is something therapeutic, almost successful about it, as if one has achieved something miraculous. But I couldn't dwell long, as I had now to prepare us for the first leaf, which gave way pathetically at the sight of us. Neither the second nor third did a lot to stem our descent. I had to praise, however, the co-operation of the surrounding trees and leaves. The noise was unbearable. One can only picture eight bananas screeching at the top of our lungs. And naturally the loudest of all fruit in the jungle, renowned for gallibantry and general gossip. Even the two quieter ones who had ripened late contributed. I have to say, the attention it attracted was more terrifying and humiliating that the thought of freedom itself. All in a split, the fourth green sheet, timed by the winds, caught us gentlemanly and humbly. I passed my thanks on behalf of the rest of the bunch (they don't have manners as such) and we rolled calmly off. A short drop about the height of an infant willow stood between us and the floor. The bed looked inviting and pleasant enough, but in spite of everything, there was always an immense risk of a bruise. A few calculations in what seemed like solitary confinement prepared us to fall and land on the stalk, meaning we would be split. We rolled with the next gust, and precisely on the crown did we land! The split was painful, of course, but the joy of being free! Being singled out, no longer subject to the sub-standard rule of the tree. I could only wonder how the tree had reacted; whether it was missing us or glad we'd left. But in any case we had made it onto the floor, after weeks of preparation. And suddenly the pain overcame me. There was no denying that the fall had bruised me thoughout. I was surprised at how quickly the thrill of freedom had passed. In a flash we were left to our own devices and we had no idea where to start, so I contributed by annointing myself as leader of the bunch. This was met with utmost disgust. The ignorance was understandable: they're wounds still protruded. But they put it down like every other theory I had. Scarcely had I proposed to make our way to the river, just behind our neighbouring fallen tree, the winds died down and we were left stranded, fixed and damaged. And then suddenly it dawned on me. The painful conversations I had had with my bunch every day had been completely asinine. Every word, every sentence had been uttered from nobody's mouth but mine. I had never actually had a proper conversation with any other banana: the rest of my bunch weren't verbal at all. They had really never said a word. I had spent three years talking to no one.