So, here I am, thinking of how I can think of nowhere else I'd rather be on this lovely English sort of afternoon. Do you know the kind of afternoon I'm talking about? The kind where the clouds hang heavy in the sky, not allowing even the tiniest ray of light to escape straight through, but filtering every last drop of sunshine until that which does fight it's way through is reduced to a soft gray glow. The kind of afternoon that holds a wonderful mist and would almost enchant you into thinking that you truly are in England...Yes, it's that sort of afternoon. Coffee tastes so much better on such an afternoon and I truly do come alive in this kind of weather. It makes one want to ramble about and discover all kinds of amazing things around each corner...oh, I was not meant to live in this country! Come, let's steal away, shall we? Let's steal away and ramble over moors and through tree laden forests, discovering Robin and his merry men or Peter and his Tink. Let's wade through shining streams and climb as many trees as we can. I love to climb a good tree whenever the occasion arises...personally, I think it's a wonderful way to spend a significant amount of time. When I was a little girl, I spent a good portion of each afternoon perched on the upmost branches of a stately magnolia tree. That tree became so many things to my little girl's imagination. At times it was a tower where I was locked away, waiting for Prince Charming to come and rescue me...though, I never actually imagined a "Prince" but just some brave hero who would brave the moat around said tower, which was filled with loads of alligators of course:-) Other days, that tall tree with its large waxy leaves became a haven for hundreds of sick and hurt "animals" that I would rescue and bring back to my castle or a large orphanage where hundreds (yes, I took care of them all by myself) of children found a home. Other days, it was just what it was, a large and tall tree who's high branches could evoke the most amazing day dreams. To this day, if I can find a tree that offers the sort of branches that beg to be climbed, they really need not beg, for I'm quite addicted to tree climbing...or birch swinging....
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.-Robert Frost
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig's having lashed across it open.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.