Trees of England

This summer has been childhood-hot, and so, I plan to make a tree-house. I've already drawn up the plans. I'll pick one of the trees out of hundred of thousand of trees that England has to offer.    We'll all camp-out, you, me and our other friends.    I'm sure I'll pick the right tree, like a word from the thousands of words in the English language. I'll pick a big one like - hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia.    I'm not afraid to go big to make it right. The syllable branches will fit well with my elaborate plans. Once the tree-house is built, at night when it gets cold we'll build a fire with friends. Collecting the wood will be fun. A game that becomes a competition that no-one really cares to win.    We won't be alone with the cold. There'll be people from other tree-houses, tents or caravans also trying to keep warm.    Everyone is outside and some of their fires are already bigger and warmer than ours. This is because our fire will just be at the start. One of our friends will be lighting the kindling.    Everyone will be outside in England enjoying the summer. But the smart money will be on the trees and their houses. We came down from the trees and this summer it will be so nice to return to them. We won't look down. We'll just sleep. Unfamiliar, outside sounds to sleep. When we all awake we will smell the earth and the dew on the undergrowth below us. It will smell new like our day. The tree will smell good too, especially the fragrance of the leaves all around us in our nest.    All our friends will stir and unfold like flowers. I will feel like smiling. So I will. A smile to repeat my countryside repose of yesterday and the day before and ...    “What do you fancy doing today, sleepy head?” I'll ask you.    “Exploring.”    “Sounds fun,” I'll agree. A little later you'll ask, “what did that word mean?”    “Which word?”    “The one when we found this tree last week, the big one?”    “Oh, well, erm ... it's a fear of big words,” I'll laugh.    “I geddit,” you'll giggle as you wriggle back into your sleeping bag for some more sleep. Washing down by the river after breakfast, I'll remember stories told around the campfire the previous night, but like the details of the tree-house or who is here with us, I'll have little need to note them down.    Another summer’s day will begin in our tree-house. A tree-house built in a long word which is only the fear of long words.

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