A description that starts out true

Hanging on a wall in my father's house is a three-inch-deep wooden frame, about a foot tall by eight or so inches wide, divided into cubbies of different sizes. Many of them have 1970s Star Wars action figures in them: an R2-D2 that my brother buried in the garden and that decades later my mother unearthed; Luke in Episode Four white; Luke in Episode Five snow gear. One cubby holds a blue plastic barrel, which, if you unscrew it, opens up to reveal a slightly smaller yellow barrel, which can also be unscrewed to reveal yet another smaller barrel in a different color. There are about eight nested barrels, and when you open the smallest one, there's a monkey glued into one of its halves. A barrel of barrels, with one monkey.

But the lower right-hand cubby contains something remarkable: a tiny red door, a perfect miniature of my father's front door, complete with dolphin door knocker, sitting in a miniature door frame. The door knob is only about four millimeters in diameter, but if you take it very carefully between your thumb and forefinger, you can turn it and open the door. If you put your eye close to the open door and lean to the right, you can just see into the kitchen, and out the window above the sink to the backyard. And, if you take something long and thin and strong, like a cooking skewer, you might be able to get that window open. Then, if you wait and if you concentrate, you might feel a tiny breeze against your cheek, and you might hear the leaves of the big oak tree in the backyard rustling, and the oak's battalions of devoted chipmunks, chirping.