Sixty yards back into the woods, the trail turns down a slope. If you look up, you can see a blue tarp high in a red oak tree. The tarp covers the area where she sleeps or cooks when the weather is bad. The flying squirrels run around the platform at night as if it were a racetrack. Today, the weather is beautiful.
High clouds float through clear skies, and although it's chilly the sun makes the day bright.
I arrived at the camp site at the base of the tree and, seeing no one around, yelled up into the tree to see if Tracey was awake. I was rewarded at once with a returning shout, and then Tracey's head and shoulders appeared over the edge of the platform. She was wearing a heavy pullover on this chilly morning, and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail like a woven cap, black with a tint of red. From below, with the sun shining and the wind making the leaves dance around her, she gave off a healthy, happy glow. The platform she lives on gently swayed and rocked like a boat on the waves, but she seemed comfortable rolling with its movements.