And then I'm back there at her house in the summer heat of my childhood. I move my pillow to the foot of grandma's bed and angle my face toward the open window. I flip the pillow, hunting for the cooler side. Grandma sees me thrashing. "if you just watch for the breeze," she says, "you'll cool off and fall asleep." She cranks up the Vanetian Blinds. I stare at the filmy white curtain, willing it to flutter. Lying still and waiting, I suddenly notice the life outside the window, the bug chorus. Neighbours, porch sitting late, speaking in hazy words with sanded edges that soothe me. "Mom, did you hear that?" my seven-year-old blurts, "I think it was an owl family." "Probably." I tell him, "Just keep listening!" Without the droning air-conditioner, the house is oddly peaceful, and the unfiltered noises seem close enough to touch. I hope I'm awake tonight when the first breeze sneaks in.