from a branch close to the trunk I see the straight boards of the fence through the dense network of branches, on the other side the red bricks of our house

within the branches I inhale the earthy smell of the fuzzy underside of the hard polished leaf

it is summer in our backyard

Bill sat on a smaller branch a little higher than where I sat

I’m sure we shared a few words with each other – but what do kids talk about anyway? we’re together – shielded by the branches

Bill’s arm cradles the trunk, his cheek rests above it, hard to say if he embraces the tree or it embraces him

a fabric of polished green Magnolia leaves allow glints of light enter our space

who knows what moves children to shift from the private space inside a tree to the cool brick floor in a family room before a television blaring “B’wana John” and a half hour with Tarzan


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