Willows weep in the summer rain, a soft wind blows from the east as I watch from a place inside my mind where I know its safe to be me. I look to the sky and wonder in awe at the beauty of it all and the peace it brings.

Ricky,

That's lovely. It sounds like a genuinely safe place where Little Ricky would have felt "safe to be me". My place was up a huge tree, and as an adult in therapy I sometimes would look out at this enormous tree in the courtyard (Oxford) and imagine myself up that tree!

Much love,
Larry

kind of funny that the house I bought has a weeping willow in the front yard. I wrote this 2 summers ago before I got the house. Its not big enough to climb yet
Maybe some day at least once I would like to climb another tree. Maybe a huge oak where I can see for miles and bask in the sun sitting on a giant limb watching as the world goes on while seeing the beauty of life way up high. I would also like to go to the amazon and go up in the canopy gondola at least once if it were all possible.

Trees are amazing beings....great places to find support and shelter. I have been writing this poem for a long time but have "finished" it after reading yours.

CLIMBING TREES
The other boys reached onward, upward
Through the branches and fear, they climbed
Reaching once with gallant effort to the sky
The sun, stars, dreams that they could see
Each of them, leaving ground at some designated time
When the body will no longer stay
And the words of worried mothers no longer bind
You’ll get hurt or you will fall become challenges instead of warnings
And the boys reach out of the womb
And up into the destiny of their own sky

But I stayed deep within the roots
Afraid, cautious, light had brought me notice
And I was scared of heights
The boys stepped over and on
Most just ignorant that I was a being
And I rarely gave them cause to know

And so they climbed deep into the foliage
High into the altitudes
Gazing onward into dreams
Out beyond the neighborhood
For the first time acknowledging
What they wanted on their own
Eyeing direction and journey
Certain of their own difference

Some stayed long into the night
Others barely made the first branch
And some, some fell from great heights
Most descended, the calls of women’s voices
Mothers maybe, mothers to; be but not their

This climb cannot be ignored
Or one will always wonder what is in the sky
And just how far it goes into dreams

But you could not have told me this
While I lay huddled
Deep in the security of the roots
Roots growing over; nearly caged
I was numbly safe in my thinking earth
My soul was calling out

I would rather have been climbing trees

Ricky, PR,

As I said elsewhere in this forum yesterday, trees were huge for me as a boy. I remember sitting high up in a tree feeling safe in the breeze and leaves; no one could hurt me or blame me there. My best friend and I (we were abused together) also spent a lot of time up trees, alone together safe away from the world.

Much love,
Larry

Thanks Larry and PR for sharing your poem. I still love trees and even though it was scary to climb way up high in the big trees I always managed to find a good spot. A safe place away from the world reaching into the sky in my own little space.
I think trees are so strong and draw the fear away from me. Strong , mighty, gentile, mysterious. Each with their own story.
The was one maple I used to climb that had a horseshoe grown right into it from the days when the field where I played as a boy was once a farm. I was always in awe to see this horseshoe within the tree and thought of how it might have grown over the years and what the farm was like when it was a sapling.