Climbing Tree

The old tree rests its aching branches 
A creamy color, pieces of chocolate brown bark scarcely covering the branches
The first branch is six feet up
I remember when I was six, I would hug the tree and pull myself up
Now I reach and the smooth, worn branches greet my fingers easily
My tree has been climbed so many times the branches have been stripped
Rubbed to a rusty red and glossed over, they feel factory made
Its beauty is undeniable
The wind strikes its branches as I look out of my window
They look so fragile they could snap
Instead, they dance
The tree has resolve, to hold for generations
I learned to climb from my brother
Lifting me and teaching me where to step, how to swing over the branch 
My sister learned to climb from me
Lifting her and teaching her where to step, how to swing from the branches and dance with the wind
I feel as if I am part of the tree
A piece in it's giant puzzle
A beat in its mighty heart
I read in the tree
I talk in the tree
I talk to the tree
I hope, that when I move away and my parents retire
A family moves in
I hope that the parents teach their children to climb my tree
I hope that they make it their tree
So that our beautiful, strong, climbing tree
May continue to dance
In the neighborhood where we grew up
Near the wood where we played
And the pool where we swam
And the house that we lived in 
So that our childhood itself may live on in others
Through the Climbing Tree