A few minutes off trail lead me to a large area that has a wall of hedge like bushes.I squeeze between two of the hedges to get to my old hangout. The crappiest little tree house I could ever imagine lay before me, well almost lay. Two trees were in the clearing behind the hedges, and about fifteen feet up the two trees start crossing like an x. In between the two trees was what looked like a giant cardboard box.
Upon closer inspection, you could see it was actually made out of wood. Barely held together by the trees, and with years of weather damage, it looked to be on its last leg. It looks like a dog house that flew in from a storm, but I missed it dearly. Rotting and gray instead of brown. It is only a foot off the ground, four feet high, five feet across. I shake the water drips off of my jacket and climb into the little hole of a door hunched.
To my surprise and delight, the tree house can still withstand my weight. Even with the newly acquired beer belly. The years of moisture and lack of repair seep into my nostrils. I imagine it must be what the neighbors souls must smell like. Cold, dank, and rotting away.