Childhood Trees

While growing up in a two story house, inside my bedroom I could view our backyard. My bed was frequently positioned near two nine-paned sash windows and from there I would read and watch the backyard activities. Some days I did more watching than reading. And there was a big, sprawling chinese crabapple tree right outside.

During these times I wished I had a porch to climb onto, like my grandfather's off his second floor study. This would have been ideal because she wasn't a good climbing tree, but on a porch, I could be in her branches!

Today I have a tree out my window in my one story house. It is very different than my childhood tree--a huge palm that shades that side of the yard and corner of our home. It towers up, but like my crabapple, isn't good for climbing. Our cat, Sammy, likes to sit in "his" window and watch all the backyard activity surrounding the tree like I did as a young girl.

I've told this story because I found this poem. I like it. It reminds me of my bedroom tree.

Tree at My Window

by Robert Frost.

Tree at my window, window tree,
My sash is lowered when night comes on;
But let there never be curtain drawn
Between you and me.
Vague dream-head lifted out of the ground,
And thing next most diffuse to cloud,
Not all your light tongues talking aloud
Could be profound.
But tree, I have seen you taken and tossed,
And if you have seen me when I slept,
You have seen me when I was taken and swept
And all but lost.
That day she put our heads together,
Fate had her imagination about her,
Your head so much concerned with outer,
Mine with inner, weather.