Climbing Trees

I'm climbing. Up, up, up. My hands are small and slender and long lost callouses have grown back. The stinging from the friction with the bark of the oak tree is a pleasant burning. I climb dexterously, as if I'm going up a ladder. I know right where the next branch for my foot and hand will be before I see it. The sun is speckling my face through the leaves and I knock acorns to the ground as I rush up, up, up. Leaves are brushing the hair out of my face for me. Squirrels are playing tag, running about me. Swirling around me in circles. The morning birdsongs seem to come from the tree itself, except here's a flash of blue and a streak of red. Finally, I break through the canopy. I've reached the top. Legs spread between two branches sagging with my weight. The sun is heating my face as I lift my gaze to it's warm glow and shut my eyes. Dazzling colors dance inside my lids. The wind is in my hair tousling it now that I've cropped it short. Like Peter Pan on the mast of Hook's ship I survey my Neverland. The neighborhood I was an eternal child in. The yards I streaked through screaming in games of tag that never ended. Trees I got stuck in. Back yards I hopped fences through. No one can touch me up here. There are no conflicts, decisions or trade-offs. The five dollars in my pocket will buy treasures from the dollar store. Bikes go as fast as I could ever want to go down the one big hill.

I want to feel the sun on my face and be glad it's summer. I don't want to complain about the heat. I want to run through sprinklers and swing on swings. I want to climb the tallest tree. I want to fall off my bike and skin my knee and show the scar as a badge of a daring full circle with no hands and that ended with a spectacular crash. I want to eat food without thinking about how much it costs. I want to be happy in tattered jeans and a t-shirt. I want summer back.