Four Little Monkeys…

Four kids climbed a tree down the street from me. It was a sunny Sunday afternoon long before dark was ready to blink itself on, before parents whistled them to dinner. One little boy had improvised a rappelling sling and hung suspended as he maneuvered his way down the skinny trunk. The others chased each other through the mangle of limbs and blossom buds like monkey shadows. It reminded me of day-long trips I took to my tree haven when I was a kid, and how the spring smelled like apricot wood. Once, my daughter told me that all she ever wanted was tree-climbing lessons. She didn’t have a tree when she really needed one, and I didn’t think to teach her that tree climbing was innately within her. Now she thinks she is too old to hang up-side-down by her knees from the lowest branch and brush her fingertips in the grass. Child, you are never too old to have a memory tree.