Treehouse

I like days that end on a high note
The wine was fine
A little green
But a welcome distraction
From my lack of action
Your mild question still hangs in the air
Answer eludes me
I’m no help again
With your reasonable query
And credible theory

I've got no answers
But the outlook is fine
Pick your own poison
Your treehouse or mine?

Treehouse timbers
Scattered on the ground
Lack of foresight
Instructions perplexing
Days getting shorter
I’ll invite myself round
I got closer than most
Until the night returned
A midsummer party
With an autumn chill
But your wine was oaked
Too long in the barrel

I've got no answers
But the outlook is fine
Pick your own poison
Your treehouse or mine?
Vibrations are pleasing
Sawtooth and sine
Bring your own bottle
Your treehouse or mine?