This Autumn tree, bedecked in glorious red and gold leaves, speaks to me of a misspent youth climbing trees of all kinds. The joy of looking out over the landscape from dizzying heights has not left me. The ability to hold myself aloft holding on by a single hand, however, has. So I don’t climb trees any more. But I remember.
I look at this tree, still through the eyes of a boy. I see where I would place hands and feet. Which branches to use for grip. Which to rest on. Which I can use to swing myself through graceful arcs far above the distant ground. I still have the piercing eyes and calculating brain of youth, if not the muscles. I can see. And I remember. Ah, those days.
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Outside Niagara? Then you need to go here…