when we opened the door in June
after months of the house standing, waiting
for us and our truck from San Antonio,
the still heaviness of last year's wood smoke
thickened the rooms
and seemed to swirl around our legs as we walked
through the sunshine on the floor and walls
we happily wandered through and opened every window
to let in the cool June breezes.
because June in New Hampshire is
The Time of Open Windows.
and in The Time of Open Windows
the windows stay open,
as you might imagine,
and the world's edges blur along the lines
of inside and outside.
Yankees know air conditioning is a sign of weakness;
a character flaw associated with dependency.
Of being too close to New York,
or worse, LA.
To not live in New England is a sign of weakness
to a Yankee.
we are glad to be home again.
in The Time of Open windows
we live a little inside and a little outside;
we breathe to the rhythms of the cicadas
and woodpeckers.
in the morning the coffee steams;
in the afternoon we sweat;
in the evening we lie still under the fans.
there is a greater possible range
when living in The Time of Open Windows,
so many things seem so possible,
until the leaves begin to fall
and The Long Winter sets in.
we dread a bit the time
when everything is closed,
and things are rushed
and huddled,
and the lines are sharpened:
this is inside,
the fire and life;
this is outside,
the cold and the darkness.
one must survive,
until The Time of Open Windows
comes again.
audio:
https://soundcloud.com/mbonica/the-time-of-open-windows
