In a book, Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, Lamott says that ‘One of the gifts of being a writer is that it gives you an excuse to do things, to go places and explore.’

This quote was firmly in my mind last night when I got to fulfil one of my childhood fantasies: I got to spent the night in a treehouse.

Our little den

It was an experience that was a combination of magical and mundane. We sat in the trees and watched the sun set over the lake. We listened to the insects and birds chirping in the trees around us. We walked through the forest like explorers and came back when it was dark, making our way to bed by candlelight.

There were also a lot of wasps, we were low on water because we forgot to bring any and we had to remember to put the sand into the toilet before and after we had ‘done our business’.

But the magic won out in the end.

The view above us

As I sat among the trees, admiring the amount of life and growth that was around me I realised that this was the joy I found in being a writer. The excuse to sit, observe, be part of the moment. I get to capture these little treasures, store them in my heart and pour them onto a page (or a blog post) later.

Life rules. Treehouses double rule.

Vis le moment présent, écris plus tard.

Categories: Writing

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