There was a grassy hill near our home, not a big hill, but almost tall enough to reach the treetops. My favorite trail through the woods ran along an old stone wall, by a row of long abandoned apple trees, to a small meadow at the top of the hill, where it was sunny and warm compared to the dusky chill of the woods. That’s where we often spent afternoons, playing pirates or setting would-be traps for crows because we heard that they could talk. During the right season a tangle of blackberries on one side of the hill gave us enough for mama’s pies and muffin-cakes. On its crest, a single pine tree grew, whose horizontal branches were accessible to the youngest of us. We could climb high enough in its strong limbs to reach the softer boughs up near the top where we would sit and sway, high enough to feel the wind on our faces and look out around us at a sea of trees and a few rooftops. p 16, TTT
Posted on: Fri, 08 Aug 2014 16:36:00 +0000