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The Second Story of our Home was Close to Heaven

March 17, 2012 by , under What Really Matters.


Last night, as my wife and I strolled our neighborhood, I listened to the Robins. Their song is a familiar and soft voice.

As children in Indiana, my brother and I had a bedroom on the second floor – a quite high second floor. During the summer (of course with no air conditioning in the 1950’s) our screened windows would be open to catch any cross-breezes available. My window ledge was at the exact height of the end of my bed, so…

I would switch my pillow to the end of the bed…

… and lay there watching dusk turn to night. I could hear the last outdoor voices as all the kids and adults faded inside, and the calls gentled to nothing but Crickets and Robins. They soothed me – I was bathed clean, relaxed, and tired from a day of play. I’d gaze through the thick leaves of our Maple tree – which rose higher than our 3-story home – and see changing patterns of green-black leaves against a lavender-cobalt sky. I saw animals and faces appear and disappear in the swaying arrangement of lights and darks within the leaves. With these images, and the Robins and Crickets singing our songs, my brother and I would drift off to sleep – high up in that Maple tree.

It was close to Heaven.