Somewhere back in time
a younger version of myself
stronger, with muscles build up from biking and playing
with arms strong enough to climb trees
with good balance, and hearing so accurate
that I could hear the fall of a leaf or the snap of a twig.

Somewhere back in time I’m climbing up the madrona tree in our front yard.
The one my swing hangs from
the one that looks out across the neighbor’s hedge, with a view across the harbor.
My hands and feet are nimble
I’m light, slight for my age, and I can tell instinctively
which branches are strong enough to support me
and which ones are not.

It’s tricky to maneuver in this big tree.
The peeling inner bark: papery bits of it fall away
revealing the green of the inner trunk, smooth and slick.
The limbs are far enough apart that sometimes
I have to stand on tiptoe to reach the branches above me,
and I scrabble with my feet in tennis shoes on the rough outer bark
to clamber up to the next level.

The breeze in the leaves laughs along with me.
“Yes!” It says.
I’m in a state of pure delight. I can see over the top of the house now,
and I’m almost to the upper branches of this dear old friend.

She cradles me in her arms
though like any wild child I barely hold still long enough to return the embrace.
The sweet smell of the leaves
and the open sky somewhere above the umbrella canopy of the boughs
cheer me onward.

I see my big brother walking along the street.  Ha!
When he steps into the driveway I shout “Hi Jim!”

He looks around, baffled.
I can’t contain my laughter so he finally sees me and talks to me for a minute.
Then he goes into the house.

Soon after this my mother comes out and says:
“Debbie, come down now.  You’re scaring your brother.”
She goes back inside.

This is too wonderful to bear!
I clamber down, all smiles,
until Mom forbids me from

EVER CLIMBING UP THERE AGAIN.

But see?
I just did.
Just now.