My son was quite the climber,
When he was a toddler.
He climbed up counters, he climbed stacked boxes;
He climbed up poles but was not obnoxious.
One day I found him atop a 25 foot tree,
He was only the tender age of three.
It was a tall, spindly tree,
And there he was laughing hysterically.
The tree was young and flexible,
Like the child clinging to it inapprehensible.
Flying through the air in wide arcs of six feet,
He swayed back and forth—the ride was a treat.
His laughter increased with each wild sway,
I called him to come down, but he didn’t obey.
Back and forth he swayed—fearless he was.
Back and forth he swayed—anxious I was.
Back and forth my mind desperately searched,
For a safe way to get him un-perched.
I watched transfixed as the tree stopped swaying,
Down he scampered while I stood praying.
Back and forth we swayed as I held my son close,
Back in my arms a midst the undergrowth.
Posey Salem | February 22, 2015
Photo by Pippalou on morguefile.com