Building Forts
Every day I walk in the woods and see forts made of fallen branches. Sometimes they are gone by the next day. Then more forts go up, often but not always in the same places.
The little structures look whimsical, even magical, but . . . why are they built? I have never seen a person inside one — just a cat, once. As Jesus said, “foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests” in these woods. They don’t use these forts.
Why do we feel the need to construct enclosed spaces where we don’t plan to stay?
Until I developed claustrophobia in my teens, I was a fort-builder too. I would tuck one end of a blanket under my bed pillow and secure the other end under my dollhouse on top of the bookshelf. I would sit in this dark little space beside my books and read or write for hours.
Why did I feel the need to build a fort in what was already a fortress — my room?
When I see these forts in the woods, I think of a story I used to hear in church, from the book of Matthew:
After six days Jesus took with him Peter, James and John the brother of James, and led them up a high mountain by themselves. There he was transfigured before them…
