Middle of avenue

Trees planted. Cars either side. No real visitors.
They drive past and do not notice.
A small house.

It’s up one of the trees. Well camouflaged. Only a few have seem it.

I spotted it the other day.
I did not know if I should say, tell, cast a spell. I think how they who live in this house get the water they need? From a fountain, or maybe the rain? Or a well? No one is likely to tell.

Cars go past, every day I cannot help but see. The little house is still up that tree.

In a day of windy leaves and stormy weather I think at my desk at work. Is the house ok? Will I even be able to see it in this rain?

I rush to the bus stop I always wait at. I hope that I can see it. But the tree has fallen! I am aghast with a calling. I fox my way through the crowd, searching aground for a single sign of the house I found. But no avail, the house has gone. My spirit as well.

Every day from then on. I could not help but think of what went on.

One day in the summer I heard a little noise. I looked up at a different tree. In it, a little house. Just like it was before. My spirit soared. Ignoring the traffic, I went and visited it. I am still there if you want to come. It’s quite cozy, and lots of fun.


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