Tuesday, November 14, 2017

A Tree Called Home

The present author would like to offer, if one may, a sort of pithy advice regarding life. That is, one must aspire to never live in a house, apartment, or other residence in which the amount of housework one must continually pursue is infinite, in order to keep the place neat and tidy. This, of course, renders the amount of livable places rather limited. One might suggest to find, say, a big, towering tree to live in, somewhere pleasantly warm, and to reside, not unlike Tarzan, in the shelter of its branches. At that point, when one asks where you reside, you can respond thusly:

"A tree."

To which your curious communicating acquaintance might questioningly suggest:

"You mean a tree house?"

Given, however, your distinct control, still, over your verbal abilities and vernacular constitution, you could simply correct them:

"No, just a tree."

At which point, it becomes easy to weed out the friends you don't want from the ones you do, as those who might condescendingly raise their eyebrows are no friends of any inhabiter of trees, while those who might prescribe a sort of badassery to residing in nature's quintessential air filter are the friends worth keeping.

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