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r the view。 I kept

thinking of what it felt like to be up so high in that tree。

I wanted to see it; to feel it; again。 And again。

……… Page 18………

It wasn't long before I wasn't afraid of being up so high and found the spot that became my

spot。 I could sit there for hours; just looking out at the

world。 Sunsets were amazing。 Some days they'd be purple and pink; some days they'd be a

blazing orange; setting fire to clouds across the

horizon。

It was on a day like that when my father's notion of the whole being greater than the sum of

its parts moved from my head to my heart。 The view

from my sycamore was more than rooftops and clouds and wind and colors bined。

It was magic。

And I started marveling at how I was feeling both humble and majestic。 How was that

possible? How could I be so full of peace and full of

wonder? How could this simple tree make me feel so plex? So alive。

I went up the tree every chance I got。 And in junior high that became almost every day

because the bus to our school picks up on Collier Street;

right in front of the sycamore tree。

At first I just wanted to see how high I could get before the bus pulled up; but before long I

was leaving the house early so I could get clear up to

my spot to see the sun rise; or the birds flutter about; or just the other kids converge on the

curb。

I tried to convince t

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春燈如雪浸蘭舟愛你無需如果撿漏:我有黃金右手拜師八戒(大夢)年代鑑寶左讀心右鑑寶掌天下珍玩夜之獨奏曲
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