Ash Tree Revisited

Last night I decided to climb the old ash tree. I am back in Cornwall for a few days. I stood amid the lower branches and looked up. Nobody had been up it in recent months to kick down any dead wood, so I knew I had to be careful over where I put my weight. I also had the added challenge of climbing in heeled boots! Go me! They just happened to be on my feet at the time I got the urge to climb. I was smiling as I teetered my way up, remarking "Oh!" each time I saw my old familiar path skywards broken by another gaping hole where wood had since died away.

Now thirty-two, and forced to take a very different course up through the tree to the one I navigated as a child, I felt strangely excited about this climb. It looked different... not so many route options, simpler, clearer. It felt different for me. It wasn’t an easy climb (partly down to the heels). I was wary of the existence of dead wood, and I could actually now identify the dead wood from a long way off and knew, quite simply, that I just wouldn’t commit myself to those branches. I didn’t have to. I had other choices.

I got half-way up and perched with feet dangling. I used to climb the ash tree to hide... the thick mantle of leaves would camouflage you well... you could see out and down into the garden, but they couldn’t see you. The leaves aren’t fully out yet, and so I sat up there last night and was exposed to the world. The teacher up the tree in her heels. I’m quite proud that I’ve got enough savvy to find, and trust myself to follow, a different path now.

I’m learning.