There's something magical about climbing a tree. The tree in my front yard was my best friend when I was really little. I loved it dearly and told it everything. Seriously. When I broke my arm and was scared to tell my folks, I climbed my tree and whispered my teary secret to it. Later, when E and I were dating in high school, our favorite Friday spot was the top of a tree in College Hill Park. Twenty feet up, the branches all stopped going up and grew out instead, creating a crater for cozy chats.
Poor P, he, too, loves climbing (anything, but especially) trees. And we've deprived him of that yard tree, living a few stories up. Ahh, well, he's become exceptionally talented at finding something to climb, wherever he is ;) And in Florida, on that one warm day, there were trees!
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