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.
回到童年炎热的夏天，回到了外婆的小屋，我把枕头移到外婆的床位，脸朝着窗。之后我又把枕头翻了过来，让比较凉爽的一头朝上。 看到我翻来翻去地睡不着，外婆说：“只要用心去感受和祈盼，风会来的，这样你就可以一身清凉地入梦乡了。”她把百叶窗拉了起来，于是我就一直注视着朦胧的白窗帘，等待它的飘动。静静地躺着，祈盼着，这时我忽然找到，窗外世界的生命。小虫的清唱；门廊外闲聊着的邻居，他们模糊不清的喋喋细语开始催我入眠 “妈妈，您听到了吗？”我7岁的孩子囔道，“我觉得那是一头猫头鹰一家子在叫。” “很有可能！”我跟他说，“再仔细听!” 没有了空调机的嗡嗡声，房间飘逸着一种奇异的祥和气氛，还有未经过滤的、亲近的伸手就可触及的夜声。真的希望，当第一缕清风悄然而至的时候，我依然能够迎接她的到来。