hand！
But the string was tangled in the branches above and I couldn't seem to pull it free。 Bryce
called； “Break the string！” and somehow I managed to
do just that。
When I had the kite free； I needed a minute to rest。 To recover before starting down。 So
instead of looking at the ground below me； I held on tight
and looked out。 Out across the rooftops。
That's when the fear of being up so high began to lift； and in its place came the most
amazing feeling that I was flying。 Just soaring above the
earth； sailing among the clouds。
Then I began to notice how wonderful the breeze smelled。 It smelled like … sunshine。 Like
sunshine and wild grass and pomegranates and rain！ I
couldn't stop breathing it in； filling my lungs again and again with the sweetest smell I'd ever
known。
Bryce called up； “Are you stuck？” which brought me down to earth。 Carefully I backed up；
prized stripes in hand； and as I worked my way down； I
could see Bryce circling the tree； watching me to make sure I was okay。
By the time I hit the slide； the heady feeling I'd had in the tree was changing into the heady
realization that Bryce and I were alone。
Alone！
My heart was positively racing as I held the kite out to him。 But before he could take it；
Champ nudged me from behind and I could feel his cold；
wet nose against my skin。
Against my skin？！
I grabbed my jeans in back； and that's when I realized the seat of my pants was ripped wide
open。
Bryce laughed a little nervous laugh； so I could tell he knew； and for once mine were the
cheeks that were beet red。 He took his kite and ran off；
leaving me to inspect the damage。
I did eventually get over the embarrassment of my jeans； but I never got over the view。 I kept
thinking of what it felt like to be up so high in that tree。
I wanted to see it； to feel it； again。 And again。
……… Page 18………
It wasn't long before I wasn't afraid of being up so high and found the spot that became my
spot。 I could sit there for hours； just looking out at the
world。 Sunsets were amazing。 Some days they'd be purple and pink； some days they'd be a
blazing orange； setting fire to clouds across the
horizon。
It was on a day like that when my father's notion of the whole being greater than the sum of
its parts moved from my head to my heart。 The view
from my sycamore was more than rooftops and clouds and wind and colors bined。
It was magic。
And I started marveling at how I was feeling both humble and majestic。 How was that
possible？ How could I be so full of peace and full of
wonder？ How could this simple tree make me feel so plex？ So alive。
I went up the tree every chance I got。 And in junior high that became almost every day
because the bus to our school picks up on Collier Street；
right in front of the sycamore tree。
At first I just wanted to see how high I could get before the bus pulled up； but before long I
was leaving the house early so I could get clear up to
my spot to see the sun rise； or the birds flutter about； or just the other kids converge on the
curb。
I tried to convince the kids at the bus stop to climb up with me； even a little ways； but all of
them said they didn't want to get dirty。 Turn down a
chance to feel magic for fear of a little dirt？ I couldn't believe it。
I'd never told my mother about climbing the tree。 Being the truly sensible adult that she is；
she would have told me it was too dangerous。 My
brothers； being brothers； wouldn't have cared。
That left my father。 The one person I knew would understand。 Still； I was afraid to tell him。
He'd tell my mother and pretty soon they'd insist that I
stop。 So I kept quiet； kept climbing； and felt a somewhat lonely joy as I looked out over the
world。
Then a few months ago I found myself talking to the tree。 An entire conversation； just me and
a tree。 And on the climb down I felt like crying。 Why
didn't I have someone real to talk to？ Why didn't I have a best friend like everyone else
seemed to？ Sure； there were kids I knew at school； but none
of them were close friends。 They'd have no interest in climbing the tree。 In smelling the
sunshine。
That night after dinner my father went outside to paint。 In the cold of the night； under the
glare of the porch light； he went out to put the finishing
touches on a sunrise he'd been working on。
I got my jacket and went out to sit beside him； quiet as a mouse。
After a few minutes he said； “What's on your mind； sweetheart？”
In all the times I'd sat out there with him； he'd never asked me that。 I looked at him but
couldn't seem to speak。
He mixed two hues of orange together； and very softly he said； “Talk to me。”
I sighed so heavily it surprised even me。 “I understand why you e out here； Dad。”
He tried kidding me。 “Would you mind explaining it to your mother？”
“Really； Dad。 I understand now about the whole being greater than the sum of the parts。”
He stopped mixing。 “You do？ What happened？ Tell me about it！”
So I told him about the sycamore tree。 About the view and the sounds and the colors and the
wind； and how being up so high felt like flying。 Felt
like magic。
He didn't interrupt me once； and when my confession was through； I looked at him and
whispered； “Would you climb up there with me？”
He thought about this a long time； then smiled and said； “I'm not much of a climber anymore；
Julianna； but I'll give it a shot； sure。 How about this
weekend； when we've got lots of daylight to work with？”
……… Page 19………
“Great！”
I went to bed so excited that I don't think I slept more than five minutes the whole night。
Saturday was right around the corner。 I couldn't wait！
The next morning I raced to the bus stop extra early and climbed the tree。 I caught the sun
rising through the clouds； sending streaks of fire from
one end of the world to the other。 And I was in the middle of making a mental list of all the
things I was going to show my father when I heard a noise
below。
I looked down； and parked right beneath me were two trucks。 Big trucks。 One of them was
towing a long； empty trailer； and the other had a cherry
picker on it—the kind they use to work on overhead power lines and telephone poles。
There were four men standing around talking； drinking from thermoses； and I almost called
down to them； “I'm sorry； but you can't park there…。
That's a bus stop！” But before I could； one of the men reached into the back of a truck and
started unloading tools。 Gloves。 Ropes。 A chain。
Earmuffs。 And then chain saws。 Three chain saws。
And still I didn't get it。 I kept looking around for what it was they could possibly be there to cut
down。 Then one of the kids who rides the bus
showed up and started talking to them； and pretty soon he was pointing up at me。
One of the men called； “Hey！ You better e down from there