28 January 2009
Wind whips the young, ice-glazed
branches of our slender sycamore sapling
out back, and I think hard at the tree,
“Hold on!” I suppose that one branch
is not so necessary in the larger scheme.
But that’s the branch upon which
my grandson will place his foot someday
to scale the limbs outside my window.
That branch will let my granddaughter
climb the tree a year or two sooner,
because the rule has always been
if you can reach it, you can climb it.