After a day full of riding bikes, zooming on scooters, and running around in the yard, our daughter decided to take a break. She reached up high on the book shelf and pulled down an old favorite: Where the Sidewalk Ends.
When I heard her reading Shel Silverstein’s “Tree House,” one of her favorite poems, I captured this moment.
Tree House
A tree house, a free house,
A secret you and me house,
A high up in the leafy branches
Cozy as can be house.
A street house, a neat house,
Be sure and wipe your feet house
Is not my kind of house at all–
Let’s go live in a tree house.
keep opening doors 
lovely shot. frame-worthy.