The watchtower is sort of a weird place for me to return to continuously. It’s rusty and partially held up by a tree, and shakes like a leaf in the strong winds that come through every afternoon here. There are spiders, and the ladder is only attached at the top by its own weight on hooks. Better yet, the bottom of the tower is actually in the marsh, wherein wait the crocs. Sitting on the top of the tower I am pretty much constantly facing several fears at once- fear of losing my stuff to the wind, fear of being blown off myself, fear of getting stuck up there, and fear of falling into a silver-screen nightmare of snapping jaws and splashing water. Why am I drawn back every day?
The view from the watchtower by the marsh is more or less unparalleled. I’ve seen tens of species of birds, lots of plants, and the ever-present crocodiles every day from its top, watching the sun fall down across the sky. It’s a very lonesome view, and very zen. All you can hear is the wind and the birds, and it all goes on below you without your help or interference. There have to be some risks involved in getting that front-row seat- there must be some cost to climbing up so high.
(To the concerned: I’m pretty sure I am imagining most of the dangers of this tower. My self-preservation instincts are kicking in, which just makes me think about this stuff while I’m high in the air. I’m not just being stupidly reckless.)