Milo Builds The Secret Hidden Treehouse

Milo knelt in the damp dirt of the woods behind his new house, his wide hazel eyes squinting in heavy concentration. His grandmother used to say the best discoveries were hidden just out of plain sight. He adjusted the brass compass hanging from his leather cord, letting it guide him past a thicket of blackberry bushes. His faded navy-blue adventure jacket snagged on a thorn, but he just laughed, carefully untangling it. That was when he saw it: a massive, sprawling oak tree with branches like welcoming arms. "The ultimate basecamp," Milo whispered to himself. But a basecamp needed a floor. Exploring the brush nearby, Milo found a pile of crooked wooden planks, probably from an old collapsed fence. He wondered if they could become a sturdy floor. He grabbed the first plank, his green sneakers slipping slightly in the mud as he dragged it toward the oak. He pulled another, and another. But as he piled them up, his excitement hitched. The planks were a jumbled mess of strange shapes and random sizes. Some were jagged, some were short, and some were split. A low rumble of thunder echoed, and rain began to patter against the leaves. Milo stared at the chaotic heap of wood, his grand expedition suddenly feeling entirely impossible.