Too high

The rustic beauty of the fall may celebrate decay.
Yet laughter of our children chases winter thoughts away.
 I watch my daughters, fearless, searching for next  branch to climb.

My mother’s fear says “Too high!” — but my kid’s heart says “They’re fine.

The scent of leaves, the buzz of bees, the crackling of a branch —

the roughness of the bark, the sticky sap against my hands.

The holding of my breath as grownups wander down below.

And looking up, it seemed there was still  farther I could go.

“Too high!” my mother said when — as always — I was caught.

“You’ll break your neck!” she’d cry, but, still that fear was never taught.

Did knights fear Dragons seeking out a legendary light?

Did beanstalk climbers look back down when seeking heaven’s height?

To fear to fall will always keep us tethered to the land.

To look above, and not below, only dreamers understand.

Today, my daughters grasp and strive through oranges and reds –

To get closer to blue, too far to not stir mother’s dread.

But I’ll stand watch as they are carried up without a cry.

My heart has been, and won’t forget, where others fear’s too high.