The closest thing to flying started early. I remember the trees being topped, so much taller than the house, swaying with the weight of the bravecrazy man armed with a chainsaw and confidence in physics. I remember the large rounds that lay about the yard, smooth yet prickly where the bark had broken off.I went away for the summer, and when I returned there was a swing. Approximately 20 feet up, between two shortened trees, a cross spar had been…
