A not-so-tough climb

I work hard to keep life from being too busy. And it is work! I battle to pull my time out of the hands of things that whittle my day down to seconds, dates and appointments and a lot of days I lose. but I keep fighting because I treasure long afternoons with nowhere to go except where we decide to go on a whim. Whim is important. Whim never gets added to to-do lists. Whims never make it onto the calendar. If we want our children to look back on their childhoods with some whimsy, we have to fight for it and advocate bare feet and unbrushed hair and windy walks. No one else will offer it to them.
I love to see my children lounging in a tree. I dare someone to tell me that God did not touch this tree, twirl it around His finger just for bright-eyed children to find. And find it they did. We spent almost an hour watching that tree come alive. When we first looked at it we only saw it's inviting shape. Then the ants appeared and mites and moss and tendrils and tiny plants weaving over the roots. The longer we looked, the more we realized we will never see that tree for how wonderful it is. I recited the following poem to the Cowgirl and she closed her eyes as the last rays of sunshine slipped from the sky.

_{EVERY TIME I CLIMB A TREE by David McCord}

Every time I climb a tree 

Every time I climb a tree 

Every time I climb a tree 

I scrape a leg 

Or skin a knee 

And every time I climb a tree 

I find some ants 

Or dodge a bee 

And get the ants 

All over me

And every time I climb a tree 

Where have you been? 

They say to me 

But don't they know that I am free 

Every time I climb a tree? 

I like it best 

To spot a nest 

That has an egg 

Or maybe three

And then I skin 

The other knee 

But every time I climb a tree 

I see a lot of things to see 

Swallows, rooftops and TV 

And all the fields and farms there be. 

Every time I climb a tree 

Though climbing may be good for ants 

It isn't awfully good for pants 

But still it's pretty good for me 

Every time I climb a tree