It was 1990. I was thirteen.
We lived in Kansas City in, what our family calls, the "white house". The house was located in a quiet neighborhood on a corner lot and was complimented by a city park across the street. It was one of three parks within 2 miles.
I had acquired my own room, finally, and it was true love. The carpet was "cookie monster" blue, there was a small bathroom, and a closet with a hidden cubby area complete with a removable wooden plank. This hidden cubby was where I stashed my school notes from girl friends and other secret girly things. Then there was the telephone (my first) which I rarely had legitimate reason to use. I called city information daily to hear my horoscope, the weather, time, and which movies were playing (even though I never actually went).
No memory of that time of my life is sweeter than one particular afternoon when I found myself alone in the middle of the park across the street. I was a tree climber. Our favorite neighborhood tree was a large gnarly oak that we affectionately called the "chinese tree" because of the intricate design on the bark. It was strong and solid and we often hung from it's branches. It's foliage was sufficient enough to hide anyone who had the incliniation to climb it during a game of hide-and-seek. Then there were the tall pines which we climbed in competitions to see who had the guts to go the farthest up. But neither of these were my target that day.
Instead, I turned to a skinny oak tree in the middle of the park. It was young and had not yet reached the heights of it's neighbors, but it was high enough for me. It was a risky venture. I wasn't sure the branches could hold my weight. I wasn't sure if there would be ants on the trunk. I wasn't sure that I could even get very high before it started leaning over. But it was a breezy day and I had a plan.
I climbed up slowly from branch to branch, stopping on each one to see if the tree would permit me another step before leaning over to deposit me on the ground. When I was at a comfortable height and I was sure, if not positive, the tree would grant me a stay, I stood still and closed my eyes. The tree gently began to sway with the wind. I could hear the wind through the branches and it was as if the wind were singing a lullaby and rocking the tree gently to sleep. I leaned with the trunk as it swayed and almost felt like I was melding into the trunk itself. That day, that small, skinny oak tree was my partner and we were braving the wind together.
Today, 15 years later, I still like to imagine that I'm standing in the arms of my old friend and I all I have to do to be there is just close my eyes and...
{{{sway}}}
We lived in Kansas City in, what our family calls, the "white house". The house was located in a quiet neighborhood on a corner lot and was complimented by a city park across the street. It was one of three parks within 2 miles.
I had acquired my own room, finally, and it was true love. The carpet was "cookie monster" blue, there was a small bathroom, and a closet with a hidden cubby area complete with a removable wooden plank. This hidden cubby was where I stashed my school notes from girl friends and other secret girly things. Then there was the telephone (my first) which I rarely had legitimate reason to use. I called city information daily to hear my horoscope, the weather, time, and which movies were playing (even though I never actually went).
No memory of that time of my life is sweeter than one particular afternoon when I found myself alone in the middle of the park across the street. I was a tree climber. Our favorite neighborhood tree was a large gnarly oak that we affectionately called the "chinese tree" because of the intricate design on the bark. It was strong and solid and we often hung from it's branches. It's foliage was sufficient enough to hide anyone who had the incliniation to climb it during a game of hide-and-seek. Then there were the tall pines which we climbed in competitions to see who had the guts to go the farthest up. But neither of these were my target that day.
Instead, I turned to a skinny oak tree in the middle of the park. It was young and had not yet reached the heights of it's neighbors, but it was high enough for me. It was a risky venture. I wasn't sure the branches could hold my weight. I wasn't sure if there would be ants on the trunk. I wasn't sure that I could even get very high before it started leaning over. But it was a breezy day and I had a plan.
I climbed up slowly from branch to branch, stopping on each one to see if the tree would permit me another step before leaning over to deposit me on the ground. When I was at a comfortable height and I was sure, if not positive, the tree would grant me a stay, I stood still and closed my eyes. The tree gently began to sway with the wind. I could hear the wind through the branches and it was as if the wind were singing a lullaby and rocking the tree gently to sleep. I leaned with the trunk as it swayed and almost felt like I was melding into the trunk itself. That day, that small, skinny oak tree was my partner and we were braving the wind together.
Today, 15 years later, I still like to imagine that I'm standing in the arms of my old friend and I all I have to do to be there is just close my eyes and...
{{{sway}}}
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