Let’s play
Have I ever described Sylvie’s parents’ incredible home? I have been meaning to, but I realized in that detailing it I would make it one of those locations that would come off sounding like one giant, hackneyed seaside cliche. A house carved into a hill. Stunning views of Monaco and the Mediterranean Sea. Gardens. A hen house. Steps everywhere.
I can only describe my joy in being there, which multiplied each morning I woke up and walked outside. It was not only the house, of course, but when happy experiences coincide with a deep-rooted pleasure at simply being where you are, you end up with magic.
We were coming home one evening around sunset when I noticed that a tree to my right had a staircase. I had somehow not seen it before, so when my eyes trailed up and saw this adorable little home, I squealed. And 6-year-old Lilian is still alive and thriving in my soul, so the first thing I did the next morning was climb up.
Ladies and Gents, this is Sylvie’s treehouse:
And this is the view from the treehouse:
