Parkour The third willow was mine. In it I could reach the highest branches and perch, foot firm in a fork or occluded knot— Hippocrates’ willow bark (good for fever and inflammation, they say) rough on the skin of my arm and my cheek. I would be the one to climb the corrugated iron of the sloping roof when a gutter needed cleaning or the chimney unblocked or just when I wanted to be away—to look over the world, and not be among it. The nearly-empty field bin, flexing slightly as I climbed its unguarded ladder, was more of a…