He climbed half up a snowy emerald tree
and peered below and waved his hands at me.
With legs held on, he laughed and smiled back down,
to angry dad – a force back home – but now
become a frantic dot. I shook what must
have seemed such tiny fists; called up and gave
the wind reproof; reached out and stretched my arm
to him and hoped my son would not be harmed.
PAD Challenge 16: write a half-way poem