Tree House

I have always been attracted by the odd ducks and the tricky ones, those that were not overt in their intentions but made you think about things when you dealt with them. They were the sly ones who nabbed you with their subtleties. I could never forget them. They were the ones who came and performed a specific task with a larger purpose at an appointed time and then, poof, they were gone
I had a tree house once. I worked on it and then played in it and slept there on starry summer nights looking up at the same stars that inspired Van Gogh. Those nights seemed endless. Then, out of the blue, the tree was cut and my tree house came down with it and now my fortress is just a memory. Strangely, the memory is more vibrant than ever and more real than the wooden structure ever was and I am probably the only one who keeps it alive.

clip_image002.jpg Hickey

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