Every day, WordPress emails me one writing prompt. Today’s writing prompt is:
Let The Scene Write Itself
For this writing assignment, I walked up an old motte-and-bailey castle site near my house to write there. There’s a beautiful spot where the rapeseed field cascade down like a golden waterfall, lighting up the rolling hills of the countryside where my family home is nestled. However, looking around my usual well-treaded path, I was surprised to find a structure I’ve never seen before: a treehouse up a 20-foot slope off the footpath.
After a shaky climb in borrowed sneakers a size too small for me, and numerous nettle stings, I made it to my destination.
As the slope flattens off into the top of the hill, a small, rustic campsite has been laid up. A wooden den stands a little taller than me, and remnants of a BBQ set and soft drink cans are scattered around the site. Someone obviously isn’t best-pleased with the littering, as crisp packets and cans have been nailed to the inside of the treehouse.
The treehouse itself is well-made into the side of the motte-and-bailey, but I wouldn’t trust myself standing on the rickety bridge that leads to the higher level; quarantine has not been kind to my weight. The nails holding the sticks together are bent and rusty – it’s a rickety old thing but peacfeul – the sticks that make up its bridges and platforms effortlessly blend into the tree’s trunk. The birdsong is soft up here, and the wind pleasant – my room has become rather stuffy and daddy-long-leg riddled recently. It’s nice to get out.
The last time I came up here, I ran 5km for an NHS challenge that put me off walking for a while. I would not recommend running 5km without any training.
I grew up making dens and forts in the forests with friends, but we’ve never done a full-blown fire camp, making a hideout base we could meet at like something straight out of The Famous Five. My friends don’t live near me, so it was usually my brother and me who made forts. And even then, the allure of the computer screen can keep a young person inside even on the sunniest of days.
I can’t help but think about what group made this natural hideout. Are they young teens that have made a safe haven from school life and parents? Is it a group of bored dads and mums who are trying out their DIY skills? Maybe it’s a group of families who have created a place where their kids can make fond memories. I’m kind of jealous.
I’ve been doing research into geocaches recently: hidden boxes in abandoned parts of the countryside and cities which people can discover and swap things inside. This would be the perfect place to hide one, a small camo bag filled with shiny trinkets for passers-by.
Anyway, the dog is getting restless. If I ever take a long break on a walk, she’ll whine and stamp the ground like a grouchy toddler, despite the fact she’s almost in her double digits age-wise. That’s spaniels for you. I’ll take a swig of water and then pack up – I have no idea how to get down from here, but I’m guessing if this is published, I made it down somehow. [I did make it, albeit with difficulty and many scratches.] Whatever the case, I’ll be back. The tranquillity is intoxicating.
[14 minutes]
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