It’s been a few years since I regularly climbed trees. In Africa, a tree was my second home. I had a few particular favorites, including the frangy-pangy tree outside of our house and the huge mango tree at my friend Ruthie’s house. We would often climb to the top of that one and throw mangoes down on unsuspecting passers-by. There was another mango tree outside of my bedroom window that always had a never-ending supply of red ants. I remember braving it a few times… and regretting it every time. When I played in the trees with my friends, April & Ruthie, we would always fight over the name “Diana”… yes, after Princess Diana. So, we would compromise: I was Diana, April was Diane, and Ruthie was Di. Yeah, it was probably my idea, because it sounds so much like something my own daughter would do right now.
Anyway, today I got to glimpse freshly hatched baby birds. The kids found them first. It was precarious climbing the tiny maple tree in our backyard and wedging myself in between the branches so that I wouldn’t fall to the ground. My legs were literally shaking by the time I got down and I’m laughing at myself and how old I feel, and still how young I feel. I certainly don’t live my life up in a tree anymore, but I did enjoy revisiting a homey place.
I think the mama bird who squawked at me the whole time I shakily held my camera above my head trying to get at least one decent picture, is also happy that my feet are back on the ground.