Pilot Post

The unfamiliarity woke me up. The slated wooden ceiling was inches from my face, illuminated by the encroaching, vibrant hue of the pure green trees surrounding the shack. I rolled over in the lime light, fumbling for the mason jar filled with water that I vaguely remember carrying the night before. In the attempt, my half asleep hand knocked the stack of rings I had laid next to my jean shorts. I let one eye open just in time to see the littlest gold ring roll across the soot encrusted, plywood floor & settle safely, deep down inside the uneven boards. I let out a deep sigh as both my eyes open: the white, down blanket encapsulated everything but my eyes, hair and forehead. The shack: A structure made out of reclaimed, leftover odds and ends. Every one of the seven windows on the second floor loft is a different shape. The walls are "insulated" by freeze foam glue and small salvaged sheets of home liners. Sills lined with half full candle wax and gemstones found on the mountain. I edge out of the bed onto the platform into a small ball, with my legs tucked beneath my naked bottom. The green light is everywhere. I rub my still sleeping arms slowly as I scanned the shack for my clothes. The air is unusually warm and the birds, woodpeckers, and chickens seemed more active in the warm fluidity of this morning. I scoot my now covered bottom from the bed, to the make shift ladder. Emmy moves intentionally in the kitchen below. I let my legs hang into the first floor of her treehouse. "Coffee?", she asked.
This is the first day of my year of summer.