If Trees Could Talk

I remember a lone tree that sat on top of hill right next to the house where I grew up as boy.
It was an apple tree. I don't remember the type of apples that grew there, but they were yellow and sweet.

On one of the tree's strong branches, my grandfather and great uncle used two pieces of strong rope and with sailor's knots tied a thick plank at the end to form a swing. I used to swing there at least once a day. If I swung high enough, I could actually kick an apple right out of the tree with my foot. So I would take a basket up to the hill and after I was done swinging I would pick up all the apples I kicked free and take them inside for my grandmother and mom to use in apple sauce and apple pie.

After I was tired of kicking down apples, there was actually a point where I could swing out so high that I was out over the hill and all I could see was sky.

Twenty-five years later, the rope has eroded, the swing is no more, the hill landscape has changed, and unfortunately the apple tree is gone. But my memories of that freeing feeling of swinging out over the hillside are still strong.