"“Nothing endures, not a tree, not love, not even a death by violence." ~ A Seperate Peace

When I was about eleven, my brother and I trekked our way
across our seventy-five acre farm to the farthest southeast corner and found the perfect tree.  

The behemoth's branches stretched out thick and strong,
as if reaching for an embrace.  

Having brought a ladder,
we climbed
up
into
its
boughs
into
a
canopy
of
leaves.  

Once we were nestled deeply into our perch,
we peaked our heads out to stare across the sweeping fields.

We spent the entire next day placing plywood, boards,
and nails haphazardly so that our
newly constructed "tree house" would stay in place.  

Whenever the wind blew,
I felt like we'd tumble out of our precarious perches.  

It was hot, we were covered in sweat, bugs bit us,
and I was soon donning one of the worst sunburns of my life.  

When we finally clambered down the ladder,
and stood from a distance viewing our childish work,
pride swelled in my chest,
and Evan and I exchanged a ridiculous grin.  

We were carpenters.

Every day that summer,
we'd hop on our four wheeler weighed down
with food,
books,
paper,
paint,
and colored pencils.  

Out there, in the middle of a vast field,
high above the ground,
it felt like I could feel the earth breathing,
the grass murmuring,
the flowers having a casual conversation.  

Sometimes the silence of the meadow felt so loud that it hugged me,
as if the boughs of the tree
actually were invisibly wrapping their arms around me.

We slept there a few nights.  

Despite the mosquitoes and the constant fear of rolling off the side in our sleep,
the view of the night sky from our tree
was
breathtaking.

It has been fourteen years since I've ventured up that tree.  

An ice storm ripped off half our fragile work ten winters ago,
and I felt a pang when I saw one of the largest branches
ripped and strewn onto the ground
like a limb lost in battle.  

Now, the tree sits in eerie silence, a quiet giant on a distant hill.  

I miss my youth when I think of that tree,
and how manufacturing a tiny house in the sky
was the first time
I'd actually built something.