Up the Plum Tree

You climbed. Mind the third branch, it has opinions. This is the best seat in the house and it is mine by right of being the only one who can get up here. (Dad can get up here. We don't talk about it.)

Air patrol. The Flying Ace keeps watch from this height too. His aerodrome is a doghouse, his enemy is the Red Baron, and his scarf is immaculate. We salute each other. Professional courtesy.

What you can see from my tree

• The whole street, being a street. Mrs. Chen's washing. The bus that is always late, being late.
• Our roof, and on it, THE KITE. Green, diamond-shaped, tail like a ribbon. I didn't put it there. The wind filed it there and the paperwork is final.
• Dad's pond: day 47. From up here it actually looks like a pond. Don't tell him — morale is a delicate instrument.
• Mum's kitchen window. If the light is on and it's near six, refer to the fridge door: dinner is at six, with or without me.

Tree rules

1. One person in the tree. Two is a meeting, and meetings need minutes.
2. Whatever is dropped from the tree is the tree's now. Current tree property: one sock, various plums.
3. The tree report is published when something happens in the tree. Weather in the tree is currently: wind.

This tree remembers you came by — from this height, the pencil is basically a satellite.

Back down to the porch · See the tally in the whole house