Queen of the mountain

Out for a walk last night, I went in the opposite of my usual direction and spied this:

Of course I needed a closer look. It turned out to be a little lean-to made of twigs and branches, just big enough for a child-size Adirondack chair. Perched atop a rock outcropping, it makes a perfect little hideaway.

Naturally, I climbed the hill to get a better photo (I hope no one was watching my awkward effort, especially getting back down).

Walking home I got wondering about the lean-to’s owner.

How old is she? Is she dark-haired or blond?

She’d need the legs of a mountain goat to climb the hill. Is she a tomboy or princess?

Does she have brothers or sisters? Maybe they are too young to climb the rocks and this is where she hides from them.

Does she snuggle in her little house reading Nancy Drew mysteries or making fairy drawings in colored pencil? Perhaps she writes her own stories there or weaves complicated friendship bracelets from colored yarn. Maybe she brings her dolls to play.

I wondered if her mom brings her PBJ sandwiches on white bread with the crusts cut off, or crunchy grilled cheese, gooey and hot; some apple slices, a juice box and a couple of Oreos to unscrew.

I wondered, too, if she might let me sit up there sometime.