My Print Books and EBooks ... So Far!

     I stood with denim Oshkosh overalls on and sneakers firm on dirt, my curiosity poised as I peered upward at the young birch tree. Its branches flowed this way and that, leaves tangled like the strands of hair that rebelliously sprayed from my braids. 

     “I want to climb you,” I whispered. 

     A male cardinal darted and fluttered way up high, its flash of red a red light not to climb the tree? No. Its flash of red was the blood flowing through my heart, my life force, my impetus, my knowing. And so, the ascent began. 

      I channeled my inner monkey, my lanky-legged flexibility free in the bagginess of my overalls. A gift. My hands wrapped around the tree’s narrow trunk, a gymnast’s grasp on the parallel bars, a true hold on wonder and assurance. Behind me a bit, my left foot was toe-tipped like a ballerina’s, my right foot was planted at the base of the trunk, heel on dirt, toes facing upward. My right knee was pressed against my heart as my back and shoulders hunched into the extension of my straight arms. The about-to-launch-a-treetrunk-shimmy stance. I looked up. 

     “Here I come. Thank you, Tree. Thank you, Roots, Branches, and Leaves, for holding me as I hold you.”

     And the masterful shimmy was launched. Careful and intentional. Movements meditative like the monkey who climbs and connects and breathes with both deliberate and instinctive sweeps. 

     The tree trunk shimmy ended when I reached my first branch, and I took hold with grateful grip. I rested. I checked both feet and both hands were secure, each finding solace in the pause, getting acquainted with each one’s branch of choice. Sure. 

     I continued the ascent. Navigating which branch and where on the branch to connect with. Branches over me, next to me, then under me as I climbed up and up. 

And then I was there. The spot, the crux in the branches I thought I could see from the ground. And then I did see it. Sure. Wonder assured. A true crux, where three branches darted in three directions from the trunk. I perched myself right in the spot. 

     “Hello there, Branches. Fred, George, Harry, yes. It’s nice to meet you.”

     “When is the last time you climbed one of us, my dear?” the tree said. 

     “Oh, that’s quite coincidental of you to ask, for I was just writing about the time I first climbed a birch tree. I was eight years old,” I said. 

     “And how old are you now?” asked the tree. 

     “Fifty-two,” I said, my gaze drifting to my feet as I imagined the tree before me standing so tall, its roots tucked snuggly into earth, and its leaves choosing to drift softly into shades of yellow.

     “Fifty-two! So, it’s been forty-four years since you climbed a tree!” the tree said. 

     “Yes. You’re a fine mathematician, dear tree,” I said. 

     “Well, I invite you to at least touch my trunk, grasp my branches, and press your heart against my bark,” the tree said. 

     “That’s just what I was thinking,” I said as I leaned in. 

     I paused in the embrace. The tree was silent, but my thoughts were loud, loud as in, Do you hear this?

     Tears streamed from eyes to bark. Home. The one word, the one truth. I’ve been so far from home so often in these last forty-four years. How did I stray so far? How did I pass so many trees and not pause to at least ponder and remember, if not climb one?

     “I feel you,” the tree finally said. 

     “I feel you too,” I said.

     “I know you do,” the tree said. 

     “How?” I asked. 

     “Because the heartbeat of those who’ve ever climbed a tree, even if they’ve strayed for what feels like eternity, have a pulse that quakes the spirit of existence itself,” the tree said.

A young girl meanders far from home

on a winter adventure

through thickets of forest.

She comes upon

a tiny pine tree,

its tip a sprig in the snow.

She almost steps on it,

but doesn’t.

She leans down and brushes the snow 

from its branches, low and high

then digs down and down

with wet mittens

and wild wonder 

until she reaches the base

of the teeny thing.

It is a foot tall, at most.

She pulls off her mittens

and slides from her left wrist 

her jade-beaded bracelet that is

adorned with one charm - a gold star.

She hangs it on the tippity-top sprig of the tree.

She stands up and looks down. 

“I’ll remember where you are in this great forest. 

How could I not? 

You’re my new friend. 

I’ll bring another ornament for you next year. 

And I’ll cast a ring of light around you, 

so that between now and then, 

no one finds you or cuts you down. 

You will live as long as you wish. 

I love you, Tree.

See you next year.”

The young girl plops to her knees

and hugs the tree, pausing in the embrace,

And then stomps through the snow

For a long journey home.

Seventy-eight years later. 

An old woman meanders far from home

on a winter adventure

through thickets of forest.

She comes upon

a grand pine tree,

its tip a sparkle high in the sky.

She almost misses it, her eyesight fading,

but doesn’t.

She approaches the tree and brushes the snow 

from its branches, low and high

then reaches up and up

with wet mittens

and wild wonder 

until she reaches the highest branch she can

of the towering thing.

It is a hundred feet tall, at least.

She pulls off her mittens

and slides from her left coat pocket

a small felted cardinal ornament. 

She hangs it a few branches below last year’s ceramic angel.

She stands back and looks up.

“I’ll remember where you are in this great forest. 

How could I not? 

You’re my old friend. 

I’ll bring another ornament for you next year. 

And I’ll cast a ring of light around you, 

so that between now and then, 

no one finds you or cuts you down. 

You will live as long as you wish. 

I love you, Tree.

See you next year.”

The old woman rises to her tippity-toes

and hugs the tree, pausing in the embrace,

And then stomps through the snow

For a long journey home.