The tree house
I loved going to granny’s. It was summer and we were visiting her once again, as we did every summer. She had such a lovely house, the most beautiful one on the countryside off of a small town. Driving to her property down the long gravel road past the clustered chestnut oak row on both sides, the sun was always gleaming from this one opening in it. Other than this spot the long road was rather shady, yet the green of the leaves was as bright as it could be. A three-minute ride later the car stopped in front of granny’s house. The Victorian villa stood there in such a manner. It fitted in so well with its pastel green outside to the surrounding vegetation of the countryside. As soon as we got there my sister and I grabbed our bikes and cycled to this opening that we knew so well. When we were little our mother told us stories that when you step through this arch you step out of the reality. My sister and I didn’t like the reality, so we loved to get away to our magic land. Stepping over some dry branches we saw the familiar pounded path which the landowner used to walk on around his fields and look out for his crops. The crops were all harvested by this time so we could clearly see the densely wooded area behind the field. We hasty cycled along the path to our desired place, threw down our bikes and there it was. High up in the treetop the old, dark brown planking of the tree house peeked through the leaves. It was high enough to be able to watch over all the fields around; even to watch the fields on the other side of the main road. It must have been a former watch tower for some forest warden; otherwise I couldn’t explain to myself the height of it. We could reach the tree house only by a ladder on casters which was somewhat withstanding. So we climbed up the ladder. Sometimes it seemed as if it would take forever to reach the top with the smallest porch you had ever seen. Every time we reached that porch we first had to rest because we were out of breath. While resting, we silently stared in the distance and listened to the sounds of the animals beneath and around us. We merely had to turn around to unlock and open the narrow door and step into the cosy space that our mother and we had created over the years. There wasn’t much in the house, more or less pillows on the floor and a couple of beanbags so it wouldn’t be crowded. Next to the narrow door we had some games and books in case we would get over company or would become bored. I remember one time our two friends and the two of us had a sleepover there and we stayed up all night doing girly things. We were watching the starry sky and kept talking until everyone fell asleep. I am sure I will never forget the tree house and spending time there with my sister and friends.
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Hello guys! I didn’t want to write an introduction to this post as I thought it would take away the curiosity of what I wrote. This was a short story about a dear place of mine which I remember fondly from my childhood. I hope you enjoyed reading it.
Until next time, bye!



