The twins were out of the car before Dad switched off the engine.

Four years old, faster than foxes, slippery as fish.

There were rules about the park, no quarter given:

'Don't go under the fence; the wood is full of splinters.

Don't go over the top; the wire is full of barbs.

Daddy will open the gate. Wait for him.

Got that? Understood?'

They nodded and bolted.

They stopped at the fence, fretting and dancing, but obedient.

I pulled out the hamper and rug for our feast

pleased to be having a picnic on a sunny holiday.

 

Inside the park Dad went at once to the cliffs

to look out upon the sea:

treacherous drop from the erratic edge

straight into foaming, deep water.

'Bellies only' was the cliff-edge rule.

but Dad was allowed to stand with hands on hips

big and strong and dependable.

The girls, wanting lunch, bee-lined for the marsh

and their mossy table-rock.

 

But they got side-tracked.

One of the scrubby trees on the pathway

had branches hanging low to the ground.

Before a single 'Don't …' was off my lips

they were scrambling up the trunk.

Fine! Who doesn't like to climb trees!

It was generously forked and sturdy.

Cut the kids some slack!

I was even tempted myself.

 

The children went quite high, very fast

with feet and hands strategically placed

their bodies lifting strongly. I was impressed.

There they perched like two fledglings

scanning a whole new world from tree tops.

 

Then they looked down.

'DADD-EEE! DADD-EEE!' squealed across the park.

 

He came bounding over treacherous rocks

his arms already outstretched.

I held up my hand: 'Stop!' He stared at me, aghast.

The twins peered down, mouths open, disbelieving!

I did not give in. I steeled my resolve.

 

'They went up easily. They can get back down.

This is a fine tree, well-branched and sturdy.'

I turned to the children. 'You can do it.

One foot – one hand at a time.

This time you are dropping your weight, not lifting it.

That will feel quite different, but not hard.

And your eyes are seeing the tree a new way.

The same, strong branches are right there.

Look! Think! Decide! And then move.

There's no hurry.

We are both here to catch you if you slip.'

The children knew I wasn't joking about this.

 

Daddy still looked ill, but he didn't interfere.

I smiled up at my brave daughters.

Oh, God! I hope they don't think I'm a monster!

They took each other's measure of intent

and tacitly agreed, in some private 'twin' way.

Very slowly they eased out of the tree

finding one branch at a time

their little faces taut with concentration

all the way to the last, low branch

and dropped triumphantly into our arms

proud as peacocks.

 

'YES! My beautiful daughters. YES!'

boomed through my heart.

I wanted to jump about and stamp the ground

but I didn't say a word, just hugged and hugged.

And smiled gratefully at my husband.

It was hard for him.

But he understood it was really important to me

and respected my decision.

That was loving wisdom I shall never forget.

 

 

Cynthia Buell Thomas

March, 2017