“I think it needs to be a little higher,” Susan says. She’s looking up into the apple tree on our church lawn, where my son Jack; his friend, also named Jack (we’ll call him Jack Y, to minimize confusion); and my daughter, Jane, are perched on branches of varying heights.
Jack’s mom, Janice, and I peer up through the leaves, too. We’ve just watched Susan hand a wind chime up to Jane, who passed it up to Jack Y, who passed it up to my Jack, seated on a branch about ten feet above our heads. He now holds the wind chime by a long green ribbon strung through its hanger and wrapped round a tree branch. He pulls the ribbon tighter around the branch, and the wind chime rises into the air.
