The tree stood in the side yard. It grew close to the house, not tall and straight like most trees grow, but crooked and bent. About three feet up, it forked into two solid branches, creating a platform, or first rung, depending on how high one wanted to climb, and I always wanted to climb very high. It was a climbing tree after all, and, except for the sap that crusted over palms and fingers and the jagged bark that could tear the soft skin of even the hardest knees, it was a perfect climbing tree.
Useful Tools for Writers
Online Journals I Like Reading