In our front yard there sits a tree. This tree very clearly took root prior to my birth. This tree is beautiful and my family and I currently cherish it. After having lived in what was practically a desert for a number of years we are very excited to have such clear signs of vibrant life so close to home. Our front yard is a cherished part of our new home. Every single time we open the door or look out of the window we see this magnificent tree. Our son has taken it upon himself to appreciate the tree as well. He uses the sticks that fall from the tree as drum sticks (he loves music), and often uses the leaves as a different sound-surface for creating varied musical creations with his drumming. He has noticed ants near the tree. He looks up through the leaves to see the sky. But this is not the main thing he does with the tree, for he loves the tree dearly. His favorite activity involving the tree is sitting. (How simple, right?)
So, nearly daily, we go outdoors and my son asks me to lift him up and place him in his tree. Our tree. The tree of our home. He raises his little arms as I bend down to pick him up. I lift him carefully over my head and place him securely, safely, lovingly, into the arms of that tree. His face lights up. He can see more from up there. Passing cars, people walking dogs. Children riding their bicycles. Even his parents: from above. His whole perspective has changed. He’s closer to the birds. Look! There’s one. He points. It’s true: he is closer to the birds. Eventually he decides that he’d like to come back down to earth. He reaches out his hands again, and I reach mine up, and together we find a way back down.