You told me you wanted to build a treehouse.
We were sitting in the tree which was kind of in your backyard, but mostly in mine. It was a lovely day. The sun was out, casting a bright yellow glow across the swaying crimson leaves. The smell of autumn -of rain and leaves and freshly dewed grass- hung in the air.
You turned to me, your large, brown eyes alight with excitement. "We should build a treehouse," you said, "right here, Annie."
And I didn't quite know what to say. You were constantly doing that: catching me off guard with your spontaneity. The idea was utterly unexpected. And undoubtedly fraught with obstacles.
But I liked it.
And so, as the world outside continued to disintegrate, we decided to build a treehouse.
