I want a treehouse home, with a treehouse family, up on little stilts above the rest of the world, hearts on balloon strings, getting all tangled up in each other and giggling about it. Our porch rests high above the rest of the world on and amid wispy cotton clouds, a wind banner furling multi-colored joy from the roof peak. The front door is pleasantly peeling pale pink, rustic and warm, leading into a square little haven to cradle us in honey-colored wooden floors, lush gypsy carpets, multicolored walls of neon and pastel, and mismatched flumpy pillow piles.
We are the rebels of the conventional world, hanging up faerie lights and cooking pancake dinners with cheap Aunt Jemima syrup. Guitar sounds echo off cozy bedroom corners and muffle themselves in the tie-dye bohemian tapestry. Our little grey wolf pounces and stretches with deft, soft paws, needling tiny claws on the striped couch, sashaying here and there, counter top to windowsill, a queen stalking dust motes dancing in sunshine shafts.
I want to live with a boy with thoughtful brown eyes and laugh lines–we’ll have lots of tickle wars and pushup game battles and impromptu naps with fuzzy blankets and stargazing conversations in the crow’s nest on the roof.
I want to live with a girl with green-hazel eyes and a deep gaze, with calloused hands and sure movements, with a wandering voice, quick fingers, a big warm heart, an artist’s mind, and a loyal soul.
I want to live with a boy with a hooked nose who smells like fresh laundry, who wears layers like the never ending scarves out of a magician’s hat, who loves world peace and has a penchant for pancakes, whose head turtle-bobs while playing guitar, and who makes funny faces and domino jokes.
I want to live with a girl with red hair, a cute nose, and a smattering of freckles, with a loud happy voice, bright eyes, a feisty wit, and caring arms that want to encircle the world.
I want to live with a boy with dark shaggy hair, a quirky smile, and unraveling mystery, with a wry sense of humor and an impressive disappearing act, with a sassy hip twist and an impressive determination to be the wolf’s favorite uncle, with mad frisbee bounce skills.
I want to live with a girl who I’ve come to discover only recently, familiar yet only just out of hiding, a girl with an uncontrollable laugh, a leaping growing mind, a supple body, and a wild loving heart–a girl that touches and hugs and writes and plays and praises and climbs and sings and loves and loves and loves and loves, boundlessly and more deeply every single day and hour and moment and breath. Someone beautiful. Someone sure. Someone belonging.
A treehouse family of six, hanging pictures on the walls, plunking out tunes, and frisbeeing in the nearby wildflower meadow. A treehouse family, climbing into the heights of each other’s minds and hearts, leaving the dark depths of sadness and loneliness and confusion and doubt behind, discovering new bright levels and windows and rooms, sweeping floors and cleaning out cobwebbed corners and spreading fir fragrance and golden candlelight. This treehouse family, living a treehouse life, in this treehouse home, which we built, and continue to build, together, strength flowing from hand to clasped hand, into and out of hearts, cool green silver and warm gold, strength pouring from our bones, plunging through our feet into the rough-hewn floor, making what was once inanimate and lonely a living place to call “mine.” Ours. On and on and on.
My treehouse family, in my treehouse home, in my treehouse heart. Here, nothing will die, everything will remain, to the clear blue horizon.
