The Dangers of DIY

Two voices wail in unison, the crescendo spooking the horses.

I burst through the barn door as Mother charges from the house.

We converge on the sound, which emanates from beneath a majestic tree near the rabbit shed.

Her children, my siblings, sprawl in the grass amidst the carnage of their now-former tree house.

Injuries are limited to scrapes and bruised flesh, so the caterwauling recedes.

Amateur forensics reveal that the floor would have held had it rested on TOP of the branches and the nails been pounded in from ABOVE vice BELOW.

Construction is not their strong suit.