He climbs. What of it?
One foot up, good grip with the hands. Hoist. Reveling in the sun pouring over his bedhead, the void below him, the sheer satisfaction of the movement. All his attention in the moment, without a thought to what if someone sees me? or even worse, what if no one sees me?
Though to be fair, he knows without thinking that he has the eternal admiration of his mama, stuck to the ground below him.