It’s the open windows of summer that I’ve started to miss. I miss all the people in town sharing their indoor space with the world. On my walk home, I used to be able to hear a conversation every night outside an open kitchen window. It was a husband and wife, both just getting home. It was the same time every night, the three of us doing our societal clockwork. I’d hear only small fragments and always the same questions: the how-was-your-days or anything-happen-at-work-todays? The mundane exchanges coupled with the openness of the window always lead me into nostalgia, like they should have a pie cooling on the windowsill or something.
My neighbor plays his piano every night. He lives alone with his master piano and he isn’t very good. Still, as I sit in my home and he in his, I wouldn’t trade our evening concerts for anything.
Air-conditioning can sometimes feel like a godsend, but God, it’s so nice to feel like nothing’s changed.
