Meade St.

There was a time when all I wanted was to stare at the sky
I would count the clouds and feel free in the wind.
My best friends were the old woman who lived next door,
The public school kids who I’d watch from my bedroom window,
And the cherry tree that sat triumphantly across the street
And I thought that’s what made me happy


Last August I drove three hours away to find what truly makes me happy
I walked and listened to the river and spent my nights under the sky.
Though it was beautiful, there was something ominous about having a river in the front yard instead of a street.
As if at any moment in my sleep, the tide would rise and I’d be swept away among water and wind.
The thought paralyzed me so much that I had to find a thicker curtain for the windows,
And make sure all the locks had found their places in the doors.


During the day I made sure to open all the doors.
I sat on the grass and asked God to teach me how to be happy.
I asked Him to make me a vessel and a window,
And deserving of feeling like I’m contained beneath the sky.
And maybe it was my imagination, but I could've sworn I felt a lighter weight in the wind,
Causing my hair to blow across my face just like it did when I would bike down my old street.


I loved how the cabin wasn’t visible from the street.
I felt more secluded and as if it was just me and God behind closed doors,
Where it was quiet enough for me to hear His voice in the form of the wind.
I asked Him again to show me how to be happy.
And I continued to sit there, waiting for an answer while staring at the sky.
It was then that I saw all that was meant for me looking down as if peering through a window.


I closed my eyes and heard the creak and opening of the windows,
And I felt comforted like I did when I’d pick cherries from the tree across the street.
I opened my heart as I inhaled what fell from the sky.
And for a split second, I worried that maybe I had come too close to locked doors,
And that maybe I was supposed to find out on my own what makes me happy.
Moments later, my worries were moved by the wind.


I then let myself be taken by the wind.
And when I opened my eyes, I saw myself colored by the reflection of a stained glass window.
And suddenly, for the first time, I knew what it meant to be truly happy.
I saw my life as it had been back when I lived on Meade Street
When I couldn’t tell the difference between an open and closed door,
And when I only saw God as being the one who holds the sky.



I’ve always played with the idea of what makes me happy, like a kite plays in the wind.
It moves between the clouds in the sky and often reminds me what it was like to hang out a window
Above a street that held my childhood behind its wooden oak doors.