He sat, knees up, butt not quite touching the earthy ground, back against the broad expanse of the tree. It's what he did best, or at least most frequently - he thought. Always thinking, often multiple thoughts at the same time. How could he do this, how could he do that? How could he help this person, how could he help that? He rarely thought about himself, or at least helping himself. He wasn't selfless, he wasn't Mother Theresa, he just didn't factor into his thoughts very much. Why was that? Who knew? Lack of self-worth? Lack of ego? Lack of confidence? All and more probably. He shrugged, it didn't matter. He glanced around the small wood, noticed the faint movement of plants and leaves in the breeze, felt the warmth of an April sun on his face, listened to the joy of the birds around him, and got back to his thinking.