Mrs Goodall’s Treehouse Story – sorry, it took me so long!
When I was a girl, I was always looking for adventures, but
no matter how much time I spent at the beach, no pirate ship arrived at our
shores, not a single dolphin invited me for a ride. My friends and I roamed the
leafy forest that adjoined our neighbourhood, but although we spent hours
climbing trees and following the trails of imaginary fairy folk, we never ever
met anything more exciting than a startled wood pigeon, noisily debarking from its quivering branch.
One beautiful, warm morning in the summer holidays the gang
met for an expedition around Waterfall
Gully. We were carrying our backpacks filled with picnic foods, water and sun
block that our mums had forced us to take along. I remember my excitement, as we
were walking underneath the light green canopy of the bush, inhaling the
beautiful earthy smell of its soil. There was a delicious sense of adventure in
the air that put a smile on my face ad heightened my awareness for my
surroundings.
Soon we heard the gentle hum of the waterfall. The sound
guided us down the mossy steps and across the slippery tree trunk that served
as a bridge over the stream.
“Let’s see, if we can get behind the waterfall”, my friend
Ben suggested and didn’t even stop to see if we were following him. I wasn’t
sure if it was actually possible to navigate the wet rocks around the dark green
pool of water at the bottom of the waterfall and I certainly didn’t want to
fall in. But my friends were already ahead of me and I didn’t want to miss out,
so I followed them, my heart beating fast and my mouth dry.
The first rocks were easy enough to climb, but the stony
surfaces closer to the water were almost impossible to cross and we were
slipping and sliding towards the stony wall, while the cold spray of the water hit
us relentlessly. Within moments we were soaking wet. I tried to push forward despite
my fear of what might be lurking in the depths of the ice cold, dark green pool,
when I suddenly lost my footing, my hands desperately reaching out to hold onto
the rock beneath me, my whole world a swirl or black and green and sunlight
filtering through the tree tops and then the shock of falling and crashing
through the surface of the black water.
I couldn’t see anything for a moment and I kicked my legs
frantically, my clothes and backpack were heavy and made moving awkward and
difficult. I shrugged out of my pack and looked up towards the light, kicked
and pushed and tried to stay calm, until I broke through the surface and I
could inhale the sweet air. I was panting and staring wildly around me, water
was pouring out of my hair and my ears. Where were my friends? Why didn’t they
help me?
To my surprise my feet touched the ground and I could climb
out of the water. But where was I? My friends were nowhere to be seen and the
pool looked different. The same but not the same, if you know what I mean. It
felt peaceful and warm.
I decided to explore this place and hoped that I would bump
into my friends any moment now, but although I shouted their names, the bush
remained silent, apart from the birds singing in the trees and the breeze
rustling the leaves.
I climbed around some boulders and squeezed through a narrow
passage way between two of these huge rocks – wondering why I had never ever
seen those before – when all of a sudden the most unexpected sight stopped me
in my tracks. The most magnificent wooden house lay before me in the sunshine. Only
a fairy tale could produce a house like this. Nothing was square, yet every
part of it looked beautiful and together the parts created a magical, even
majestic impression.
A small band of smoke came out of the chimney, floating up
towards the sky like the skin of a carefully peeled apple. Whoever lived here –
they were at home.
I hesitated for a short moment and then I walked up to the
door and knocked.
So far so good - can you carry on from here? Share your story on google docs or email it to me and I can publish the next bit of this adventure.
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