Ready . . . set . . . write . . .
When I saw the prompt many trees came to mind: the tree with the rope swing, the tree of Calvary, the row of graceful, ancient maples that arched over the country road in front of my childhood home, the apple tree out back that I loved to climb. As a child who grew up in the country and had a father who ran a sawmill, trees were a treasured part of my life. But the prompt said, tree . . . singular, so I will choose one tree. The tree with the rope swing.
In our yard, in front of a large, 1800's farmhouse stood a beautiful maple tree with a branch that was perfect for a rope swing with a wooden seat. I loved that swing and that tree. As a child I would spend part of many a day swinging on that swing, my legs pumping, leaning back my arms extended, and then pulling forward to gain momentum. Swinging high, looking up at the leaves high over my head.
Sweet memories of a beloved tree . . . and of the man who tended that swing and made sure it was safe and ready for me to use . . . my dad.