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Kneel on the grassy ground at the feet of the tree. A leg up to my threesome as they reach for the nearest handhold in this ancient apple tree. One at a time, they shimmy up the tree, barefoot, their arms wrapped around the trunk.

I remember. My apple tree, at our South Bay house. That was my special tree, the one who taught me how to climb. White blossoms in the spring. Perched high. Branches pruned by my parents, to make a living ladder.

The harbor is in the distance. Later, we’ll play Lava Monster on the playground and they’ll squeal as I reach for their feet.

This is home. God bless us all.