I feel badly for kids today who don’t have the marvelous experience of playing outdoors for hours on end, their overactive imaginations blazing, no technology or parents in sight. The creative seeds of my life as a writer were planted years ago when as a child, I was rocked in the strong arms of tall, magnificent trees. There, I would daydream away summer hours until stern last calls for dinner, the final light of day or the appearance of the night’s first lighting bug, or it got too cold. It was true freedom and the young muse flowed freely. I owe a lot of my creative success as a writer to those early tree moments. No wonder they still hold my heart.

Maybe I’ll ignore technology, grab a pad/pencil and go climb one today. But I’ll no doubt choose a lower branch than would my carefree, naive younger self.

Photo Judy Winter 2011