My aunt had the perfect tree in her backyard. In fact, she had two with a hammock strung between as if in a tug-o-war. My cousins, who are both older, had built a tree house. Well, tree platform. But I was still small enough that I could climb higher and the branches could still support me, all I needed was a boost up. The the years passed. I got bigger. I and while I could still climb, I couldn't go as high. Eventually, a big storm came and broke off some of the limbs, including the one with our tree house. Later, my aunt moved to a condo with no trees as her kids went off to college.
So here I am today. Treelimb-less. And still wishing that I could climb again. I have a beautiful old oak in my yard. Twisted and gnarled. But no branches that I can grasp. I pray that one day a low branch will spontaneously appear just within my reach. Of course, it will never happen. But one of these years I will find another tree to climb. And then there I will sit until the sun sets, notebook in hand, camera at my side. And from there, I will watch the world go by.