Waking at midnight, I glance at the open bedroom window filled with what I think is early morning light.  Throwing off the covers and rubbing sleep from my eyes, I hurry to the window with wonderment and then surprise.

Wandering outside in my robe and slippers, I discover the backyard is filled with an enormous oak tree.  I think to myself, “Where did this tree come from?  It’s never been here until now.”

Nestled under a full canopy of branches, rests a delightfully engineered tree house.  From a window, a young boy’s voice beckons me, “Come on up.”

“But how?”  I ask.

Without any explanation, a gentle breeze sweeps me up, and I am standing next to a handsome boy, Steven.  He welcomes me to his house, and goes on to say, “I don’t often give tours during darkness in the middle of the night.”

Steven and I walk together, just the two of us, at midnight, in his magnificent tree house.  I have never seen anything like his personal Shangri-La.

Each of the three small rooms is filled with a young boy’s playthings and imagination.  One room overflows with games of every description, which are stacked neatly upon a shelf.  On the table is a half-finished puzzle, which the two of us finish together before I begin battling another yawn.

Another room invites us in to experience beautiful music.  The atmosphere feels like a concert hall filled with symphonic, harmonized sound.  We relax and listen while sitting in comfy bean bag chairs, but I am beginning to feel just a bit drowsy.

The final room offers a kaleidoscope of color, with different designs on each wall and the ceiling.  The floor is painted with shades brighter than any rainbow.  Steven encourages me to touch any color, and it instantly changes to a more dreamy moment.

As my personal tour of Steven’s tree house wraps up, he tells me, “I hope to see you again some night.  Always wake up preciously at midnight, and I’ll be here.”

The moonlight’s stardust carefully returns grandpa back to sleep; now in his bed . . . still wearing his robe and slippers.