The longer you parent the more you learn that simple things are best: carousels, crayons, mud, and trees. The camphor tree in our front yard has a swing hanging from one limb, a sublime scatter of shade, and an entire world of branches and leaves ready to explore by our three-year old. Once placed in the tree, Child Harbat wanted to stay up there, and who can blame her?
Our tree became a roost from which the world could be watched with impunity, a royal post removed from the common world. She gave our tree hugs, kisses, and once she found the right-sized perch, clung on like a baby orangutan, at one with the bark and gently swaying branches.
Writer, architect, father, husband.
Gorgeous shots of her in your tree!
Those pix are photo contest winners–especially the first one!