Swinger of Oaks

So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
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 wilfully 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.

                    ~Robert Frost excerpt from Birches

Down the road from our house in Deltaville is the boat ramp and pier for the community.  When I was a kid, there was a rope swing tied to a large branch on the oak tree that stood by the pier.  There was a yellow plastic disc seat- one that was made specifically to provide a seat for a rope swing.  I remember sitting on it, swinging high over the sand and gravel.  I used to think about going high enough to jump off and make it into the water which was not a possibility.  More likely I land on the concrete of the boat ramp and break something or, heaven forbid, crack my head open (which was the concern my grandmother always voiced: "you're lucky you didn't crack your head open!" "Get down from the roof before you fall and crack your head open!" "What are you doing climbing out of the window? Do you want to fall and crack your head open?")

you can see where the limb used to be almost directly above BC's head

This fall I took some photos of the Brat Child in front of that old oak.  The swing is long gone.  The branch that held the swing is long gone.  The child who dared to do things that might break her head open- certainly toned down and more cautious. 

However, she gave birth to another such child.... Lord have mercy.