living in trees

I've been stumbling across these treehouses

on the internet the past month or so.

i've been drawn to each one.

it may be my need for a haven these days.

to return to where i grew up,

where i learned to be.

I played in forests alone as a child.

a magical place called princess park

at the end of my street,

with trees taller than i could see,

and babbling brooks and tiny clearings.

a safer time, when i could disappear

from home and my mom wouldn't worry

even though i was only 8.

when i could go as deep as i could

into the woods and always find my way

back by dinner time.

when i lay in the grass,

listening to the applause of the trees

on an especially windy day

and spoke in whispers.

There's something i learned on

those solo trips to the heart of the

tiny forest at the end of my street:

to be still.

not unmoving, unseeing, unfeeling;

but to see, and feel it all.

to still my mind, and to listen

to the sounds in the silence.

i was wiser at 8 than i am now.

i am trying to find that again.