The first leaves are falling in the garden. „Autumn spreads its white fog, it can’t always be summer!“*

He gently pushes the kids in the treehouse early, the feet cold from evening dew.

Pheeeew, pheeew, pheeew. The barefooted adventurers let out tiny clouds of steam like little locomotives. Damp feet rush over the spiral staircase up the tree. Accompanied by goosebumps they seesaw in step over the 41ft. long suspension bridge. Up and down, up and down.

As the mist draws the curtain, he reveals an oak tree embraced by a treehouse which swallows the wild bunch immediately. There the scent of hot chocolate and freshly baked pancakes reaches their noses. Warm socks are being slipped over, woolen jumpers get fished out of boxes, thermos bottles are unpacked. All the treats spread out on the sheepskins. The windows fog up from the girls glowing cheeks.

Late in the evening, when they’re all full, there’s reading, scuffling, crying and comforting going on upstairs in the sleeping loft and… sleeping.

At the next morning there’s drizzle, mist and rambling deer outside for breakfast. During the refreshing feast plans are made – wrapped up in cozy blankets on the covered porch.

The leader takes the exit down the firemans pole. The others disappear down the 250ft. long zipline in the misty woods. A joyful whoop from somewhere far away.

The second leaf is falling in the garden. It may be fall now.

*From Hermann Hesses „The Beginning of Autumn“