Last night we slept with the windows open. Laying in bed, listening to the fan in the window, I could almost imagine I was 10 and sleeping in the back bedroom of my grandparents’ house. Add the chirping and croaking of insects and frogs, and lowing from nearby cattle. Instead of my new mattress and bamboo sheets, I could feel the soft, springy mattress and ancient quilts that made the guest bed at the old house in Alabama.
