From a treehouse

I sit in a treehouse. I ran here on morning muddy trails that sucked at my shoes, straddling puddles, wet ferns brushing my knees and thighs. I ran past a pool printed with spirals from the rain and cinnamon gold candles melted low to hollow bowls of wax. The Temple of the Blue Moon treehouse to my left, then down the hill to the Raging River flowing high with froth.

The Hermitage

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Birds call from branches close to where I rest, perched far above the river. Some of the branches are furry green and draped with moss. Others feathered like lace.

My tiny treehouse is named The Hermitage, and it's shaped like a nautilus shell built on the side of a towering cedar tree. I've propped my damp feet on the trunk itself, which forms a thick and heavy wall. It would take three of me to embrace the tree, hand in hand like a ring of paper dolls. I brush my palm against it, and it's surprisingly soft, despite the strength of the chocolate-colored plates of bark.

There is a window open in front of me, two tall panes folded outward, overlooking the river. More windows to my right, split door to my left. The house sits at the top of a twisting ladder made of bent branches shiny from the rain. It is just big enough for a built-in writing table tucked under the open windows and a wood and rattan chair, where I sit, its polished arms ending in full drooping bulbs. Tulip seeds turned upside down.

Open to possibility

A writer's nest

I'm tempted to flip the chair over, wave my arms around a bit and shout "Grow!" to it. I'm not sure why, and I'm too chilly to do more than write about the idea, but the thought makes me smile.

I think sitting in the tree tops makes me feel a bit mythical, grounded by the roots below but open to possibility so far above the earth, cradled in trees, drenched in the heavy scent of cedar and lulled by the river. I could reinvent myself here. An empty book, a handful of water colors. I feel content and nourished, blessed.

The owner said couples often write their wedding vows in this treehouse. I will write vows as well, nested high, the river's first thunder fading into a long sigh of relief that matches my own.

• I will have faith and hope.
• I will move forward.
• I will take time to run in the rain and mud.
• I will write a lot and draw a little.
• I will love.
• I will reach out and not pull back in fear.
• I will live gratefully, writing in my gratitude journal each day.
• I will grow.
• I will do yoga, because it quiets my physical being.
• I will remember personal and family prayer and scripture study, because those quiet my spiritual being.
• I will remember from whence all blessings flow.
• I will climb a mountain with Sam.
• I will listen to Zoe.
• I will seek wisdom through prayer and personal revelation.

Refiner's fire creates space for new light

Rekindling old friendship - Love you Vidette!

Morning Run

Worth the climb!

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