Deep in the woods, a tree house sitting up, quite proud, upright, clearly no longer in use. From a distance, I thought it might be a hunting stand, but as I got closer, I saw it was something else, a magical place for children to be themselves, find themselves, connect with nature and the animal world, and discover the awful and wondrous beauty of solitude.

I think of these children, up in the tree, no Facebook, no cell phone, no games on tablets. I don’t yearn for the old days, I do not emotionalize the past. Children today live richer and fuller lives than I could have imagined, holed up in my room with a small transistor radio and a few comic books.

Still, I feel for the children who will never know the treasures of the woods, the sweet awareness of being alone, the confidence of mastering the quiet and the dark. Here, they could sit quietly and watch the deer, the bear, the raccoon and squirrels, the chipmunks and mice, the coyotes and ferrets.

I imagine this was built by a father, his love and concern are written in every plank and roof tile. I wonder if he is gone, or if he ever comes back to see what he built.

They could scare each other with stories of the dark woods, the ghosts and animals and strange creatures who come alive in the dark. Perhaps they slept over often in the warm weather, tugging their flashlights or candles, their crayons and books, some sandwiches wrapped in wax paper carried from home with some potato chips and a pitcher of milk.

They might have climbed down to swim in the pond, even to run to the farmhouse down the hill for some cookies or milk. At night, they might have pulled the ladder up, or closed the door. The children are long gone from this tree house, it was carefully and lovingly built. I imagine grown-ups were not allowed but friends came for sleepovers, or to spend lazy afternoons sitting up above the world,  soaking up the richness and teeming life of the forest.

I can hear their shrieks and shivers at the hooting of the owl, the eyes of the deer reflecting the moon at night, the howls of the coyote and rumbles of the black bears. Hugging each other, lying still, wishing for Mom and Dad, but refusing to go to them And in the morning, in the light, the forest is silent, and all is well. Lessons of life.

I thought the tree house to be sad, perhaps missing those children, waiting for more. I think there will not be any more, going to tree houses is not what children do any more.  How can we respect the past without mourning it, without wallowing in it? Nostalgia is a trap.

But the tree house is a ghostly spirit out in the woods, it speaks to us of a simpler life for children, a magical one, a safe world out in the deep woods, something many children today – and their parents – would find dangerous and unimaginable. I felt the energy of the Tree House today, I heard the children laughing, watching, listening, getting to know their own heads and minds, and I thought to say do not fear aloneness, it is a foundation of life, the garden of the soul. If we cannot be alone, we cannot ever know ourselves.

We can never really be with anyone.

I think that was the message of the Tree House for me. It sits deep in the forest,  high up, waiting. It whispers to me, they will come back. I will wait for them.