I live in a type of tree house that resembles a sphere. The cables on the globe’s top secure it to the top of the most substantial upper tree branches for sustained strength. The other wires hooked to the bottom of the sphere were secured halfway down the trunk. So no one can climb up the cable and rob me. I climb up and down the line daily to walk along the forest floor, collecting mushrooms I cultivated myself. There are few neighbors; most of their tree houses are made of wood connected by metal bolts to the tree. I don’t have to climb to the ground at night to use the bathroom; it’s inside my sphere. Besides, a cable connects pipes to the base, which continues underground to caverns where it accumulates. It smells terrible. I’ve been down there. That is where people purify it to use as fertilizer. They sell it to farmers far away because it’s embarrassing to know that our waste is used to grow things.
It has been suggested that I grow my stuff up in the sphere; I built a platform of wood to hold containers for soil and growing mushrooms. That way, I don’t have to worry about the tigers lurking on the ground. I tried that for a year; the mushrooms jumped onto the tree branches, grew there, and became my neighbors. Even if I wanted to stop them from growing on branches, they kept sprouting up a futile effort. I welcomed them, picked them, selling and ate my friend’s mushrooms. The mushrooms on the branches started glowing the ones in the pots and on the ground ceased sprouting. The mushrooms liked it; hooray discovering a new hobby shining on trees. The taste of those mushrooms was better and sweeter.
Cultivated stuff like mushrooms had been known to grow on rock islands several miles out to the Sobvian sea. That’s where mounds of crystal grow, gradually eroding after several months. In a lagoon, a few trees grow. Further inland, the trees are surrounded by deep and shallow bogs. Elevated stones are used to walk across the wetlands to the islands, and people use canoes to paddle back and forth to get stuff from the island to the trees. These bogs are different; they swallow up animals and people into their darkness. I swear they are alive.
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