When I made my pilgrimage to Bayreuth this last summer, there were several things besides Wagner that I captured my imagination.
I remember one house on the street vividly, on my way to the Festival house from the hotel. There was a tree house in the garden.
And it was just a private house. Imagine a tree house in your backyard! What fantastic child years you would have!
I have always been fascinated by the trees. Staying high up among the boughs for a prolonged time has been one of my unfulfilled dreams.
We noisy brats used to climb the trees, to the horror of the onlooking adults, and do various things. Somehow the tree time liberated our spirit.
From evolutionary point of view, it might be that one is more at ease and relaxed when one is on the tree, avoiding the hazard that comes from being on the ground, which makes one vulnerable to the attacks by predators. Climbing the tree, needless to say, gives one a magnificent view.
Books are made of trees, and the spiritual effects are accidentally similar to those by the trees. Reading books gives you the vantage point of a wider vista, where you can breathe more freely and without restraint.
Reading books on a tree bough becomes thus a fascinating combination. Something I haven't done to my satisfaction yet in my life.
The lovely tree house in Bayreuth.