I open my window at night… late, late at night, when I am awakened to heat by the sounds of someone climbing the stairs to go to bed in the middle of the night, though I never know it at the time, and neither does the stair-climber. My room is hot, too hot for comfort, especially in the middle of winter, even though it is Houston. I crawl to the edge and climb out of my bed, down to my shoes, and stumble to the bathroom to relieve my suddenly compressed bladder. When I return, the heat hits me like a physical wall of warm fabric floating just inside my doorway. I stumble back to my bed, letting my shoes fall as I climb into it. I sit for a moment, considering… The lights are off, so it is all right.
I lean forward on my hands and knees, and I slide open the large window a few inches, before sitting back and relaxing, waiting for the cool air to stream firmly into my room. I always consider going to sleep with the window left open. I always close it after only a minute or few, so that I may go back to sleep, at ease. I want the cooling air, but nothing else is welcome. In Houston, many a thing might aim to make itself welcome through an open window at night. And I really don’t want to wake to a rat diving between a stack of boxes. I want to keep this room clean, please. And so, I shut the window every time, even though I’m never quite cooled off enough for good rest. Each night, I silently wish for a screen for the window, while disregarding the wish, because I wasn’t to see the world clearly through the window, whether closed or open, just free of screening… so it cannot be.
So, I open my window at night, out of practical reasons, but silently wish to experience the magic I feel is waiting just outside, waiting in that cool, crisp, winter wonder air.