Every since I was little, I have fantasised about living in a treehouse. When I attempt meditation, which is very hard for me because turning this mind off seems nigh on impossible, my quiet place is a treehouse. Filled with white duvets and cusions and the smell of jasmine.
I hope one day to marry a man with the smarts to build me a decent treehut I can have as my quiet place, because perhaps living full time in one may not be so practical.
Such great stuff. For the meantime, I'll have to be content with a hammock in the tree outside. Still pretty good stuff.
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