You’re seven years old, and you’re climbing a tree. It’s not just any tree. It’s the perfect tree. At the very bottom, the branches are practically stairs. They’re thick enough to hold your weight, but not so thick as to hinder your climb. The bark is rough enough to provide traction, but not so rough as to skin your bare knees.
Each branch becomes that much more of an endeavor as you climb up and up, but also that much more rewarding. You begin to have to strain your arms to reach the next, hoisting first one leg above it, and then the other.