Climbing Like a Child
Climbing Like a Child Her branches are solid and inviting–a muscular gray stretching into waxy, plump green plumes. She is an extraordinary magnolia, extending above the top of the apartment buildings competing with her. She is the queen of the garden, and as such takes her strong stance in the middle. Around her are cushiony clover and spongy moss as inviting as she is. I slip off my sandals and spread out my toes. Ivory butterflies flit from flower to flower–now fuchsia, now red, then back to the verdant folds of knee-high stalks. A cat plops down among all this awe, observing the goings-on of the butterflies. He absorbs all the colors of the garden in his fuzzy, black blob of a body. I grab onto the magnolia's nearest branch with my hands and step on one low to the ground. It forms a ledge made just for my foot, and I use it as leverage to reach higher branches. Her limbs are just right: not too thick but firm enough to hold me. I push past the tangle of lines that form a canop...