Birches

I like most that when I sit at my desk to write, I'm overlooked by tall oaks, and sweet gums, and other trees I cannot name, all just outside of the window. When I look out at them, they create such a thick green curtain that I cannot see houses or roofs. They make their own village, and they create such a collage of greens: mint greens, and hunter greens, and lime greens,and olive greens. And they wave their branches to the other in such cordial hospitality that I am taken to their front doors and forget that I am, still, sitting at a desk looking out of my window.

When  I was younger, there was a particular tree in my yard to which I gave the name, my star tree. My star tree was just a sweet gum, but as a child, the star-like leaves were enchanting and replaced "Sweet gum" entirely. I'd climb most afternoons high into the limbs and I'd hoist books up by rope and read about peter rabbit, or I'd lie and daydream, or I'd talk to the limbs.

I'd ask my star tree how it was. I'd tell it about my days. I'd say most anything to it.

Looking back, it was a sweet, childish thing to do. I don't climb my star tree any more. I broke most of the limbs when I was younger, and others died with time, so that now it would be fairly difficult to climb into it without a ladder.

In fact, I haven't climbed a tree in a very long time if you wish to know the truth. I've played with the idea, but I haven't really climbed high into a tree since I was a kid.

If you haven't read it, Robert Frost wrote an entire poem about climbing high into birches as a young boy.

"So I once was myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be."

I am not going to admit to fully understanding Frost's thinking when he wrote the poem. But what I gather from its contents is that trees offer another world to those who dare to climb into them. A chance to get away, to sit still as the cars, and the neighbors, and the neighbor's dogs, and the sun goes by.

"I'd like to get away from earth awhile.
And then come back to it and begin over."

I think children are gifted with the ability to get away from earth awhile. And I am amazed by this. Like you, I've grown up, and I am aware that as much as I can find the beauty in the trees in my backyard, I can't bring myself to talk with them anymore.

I love watching children talk to their hands, and their feet, and the toys they hold. I love watching them disappear into a world that I can't see anymore, and if I see it, it is only for a short time, and with much determination.My niece does this. She talks to people and things that I can't see, not like she does. I can pretend I do, but I don't, not really.

She laughs, and yells, and is sad, and is excited by all of the little thoughts that grow into big thoughts, and before I know it, she's created a new world and has invited me to sit and play in it. And I remember my games, and my star tree, and the little worlds I too created, and it seems so long ago. But sometimes I remember it when I look at the trees that have long and thick limbs that bow low to the ground.

It's so funny to think that we were once all children, even those of us who have mustaches, and growl at kids on their porch, and pop balloons when no one is watching. We were all once children. We all knew what it was to dream and to play and to whisper to trees. I think Frost remembered it best, and maybe he longed for it again the most.

I don't know. It makes you sad to think about the child-like faith and grace and naivety we've all lost along the way. But it makes you happy, real happy, to see children climbing up trees, talking about the fairies in the branches, and screaming at the top of their lungs with such joy and laughter that they bring that distant land, the one both terrifying and beautiful, back to you.

"I'd like to go by climbing a birth tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
 But dipped its top an set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
Once could do worse than be a swinger of birches."