Tree House by Bronwyn

Hidden deep within a lush green entanglement of trees stands one particularly broad oak. In its strong embrace a tottering shack rests, as if it had been dropped from the sky and landed among this moss-covered giant’s branches. It casts a shadow on a girl standing coolly among the mess of shimmering wet leaves below. She approaches the base of the tree where a seemingly random path of wood notches, nailed firmly into the rough exterior of the tree, acts as the only means of ascending into the shelter, that creaks with the wind above. She places her hand on the first slimy wet notch, just above her head, and climbs confidently. At the top she crouches in the familiarly slanted doorway and breathes in the smell of rain and wet wood, then walks lightly across the rickety boards that bow dangerously with every step. Icy fingers sweep across her wet brow. Odd assortments of shiny bottles, cans and boxes line the flimsy walls and a crack in the ceiling provides a constant dripping of water onto a small box in the corner. Shivering, she kneels down and her fingers work delicately to pull out a soft weather beaten paper from the stack inside the box. She holds it in the path of a sunray and feels a smile spread across her face as she examines it.