by Roy Charles Henry
In his 1836 manifesto Nature, Emerson said, “The best moments of life are these delicious awakenings of the higher powers.” He understood why I climbed trees.
Am I dying,
Or am I struggling to wake up?
I can answer both yes and no!
My body gradually, yet relentlessly fails to do my bidding.
The melodies of man and nature are fading away.
Sadly and not sadly I carom between two worlds,
Assume two identities.
A faltering graying seventy-year old and
An ageless swashbuckling Zorro.
From heartbreaking sadness to a carefree joie de vivre
I scamper up a limber tree swaying in a soft warm breeze
Blowing many summers ago.
I look out over my searching friends below,
A child again playing the endless games in an endless life.
I have left the earth and am flying over the housetops.
I am invisible momentarily and then I descend
From air to branch to ground
And the squealing energy of my fellow creatures.
“Roy” my Dad shouts, “Come on in, it’s getting dark.”
“It’s too late,” I think to myself as I head for home.
My home is elsewhere now,
I have become a climber of trees.
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