De Vine

It was a glorious day to ride a horse. Out on the trail in Queeny Park, I looked up to see a thick vine hanging down almost within reach. One part of the vine was attached to a tree on one side of the trail, another part to one on the other side. Perhaps I should stand on my saddle and grab it. I could swing into the woods like Tarzan of old. Then, of course, the vine could be rotten and I would fall. Or it could be poison ivy. Then, again, I could swing into the woods and have nowhere to go except down. I checked my imagination and just rode on.