Tree House, a feeling.

A feeling,
like being in a tree house, as it precariously sits upon a wobbly support.
A slight change in movement creates an aftershock.
It brings an uneasiness. A quick moment of fear.
It settles until we stir again.

A feeling,
like weathered wooden planks, soft, showing holes where the elements have ripped through.
To step carefully. To remain adventurous, but must remain cautious.
To be sure we do not create more harm, to the already tired floor.

A thought,
why don’t we fix the supports? Why don’t we repair the floor?

We know what happens to supports that shake.
We know what happens when you put too much pressure on a weathered plank.

Does one risk the demolition? The rebuild? The unknown?

Does one let the tree house fall on its own? As we continue to step carefully around it’s fragile floor?