After a while, he would come back down laughing, and then, he would settle comfortably on one of the first lower branches of that pine tree; the branch polished to a fine finish from so much wear.
It was a huge bough, precisely his favourite one, where he would swing from his legs, with his head dangling downwards. From there he would on occasion intervene in his parent’s quiet conversation.
However, on the majority of the times, this little boy could be observed as he hung from the branch (perhaps, deep down inside, the answer to the primordial instincts passed on by this ancestral forefathers, the tree dwellers, for it has been just so natural in him). He hung with his strong legs or simply with both or one hand, while he cheerfully balanced himself, swing to and fro.
