Art Journal
March 14, 2010 at 14:32 
Until I was 20, I slept with the windows open three seasons out of the year.
For a while when I was a teenager, I lived in an old farmhouse next to a mill on a creek. My bed was next to an enormous window that faced the creek and had views of the mountains and an adjacent horse pasture.
I loved to lie in bed and listen to the sound of the waterfalls upcreek, water bubbling up from the spring, the horses stamping and snorting, the owls talking to one another, distant dogs barking, cows lowing, and the rustle of wind and nocturnal mysteries.
In warm weather, the humid nights were filled with farm scents--manure, hay, horses, and occasionally skunk. I loved the fresh smell of the creek and the rain that clattered onto the tin roof and then rolled past my window. Sometimes fog would rise off the landscape and cloak the woods and pastures. When the moon was full, the landscape came to life, and the contours of the mountains were sharp and silvered. In every season, there were endless stars.
When I got married, my open-window days ended. My Man was sensitive to light and sound and certain an open window was an invitation for criminals to slip in and slit our throats in our sleep. Our bedroom was an airless, lightless, thermostat-controlled cocoon, swaddled in room-darkening shades behind heavy drapes.
For decades, I slept next to my man and away from the moon and the stars and the night sounds I loved. Sleeping alone recently, I woke at 1 a.m. to the sound of rain on the roof and stopped to listen. It dawned on me that opening the window would disturb no one, and so I did. Immediately the room filled with the richness of water, earth, wind, and sky. I watched the happy cats eagerly climb onto the windowsill and felt Spring evict the stale darkness in my soul and roll back the years. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, I closed my eyes and welcomed the natural world into my bedroom like a long-lost friend.
Reader Comments (10)
Your description reminded me of the creek... I still think of it. It was one of the most beautiful and peaceful creeks in my memory. Crystal clear, with moss covering the stones in the creek bed, and the grass from the pastures went right up to the edge of the banks. Soft grass, too, with the tops of wild onions poking through and mixing with the earthy smell of the moss and mud. I'm not sure how old I was then, but I do still remember it vividly.
Shirley
I can only sleep on the second floor of a house, though. At least with an open window. When I was a teen, there was a rapist who went through our town, and he only went in through open windows. Ever since then, whenever I read about someone being raped or murdered in their home, it's always through an open window or an unlocked door. Remote or crowded, it's almost always how they get in. I can't do it.
I wonder how those locks do, that lock a window open just a bit, not open enough for anyone to get in? Doesn't matter to me, since I've been sleeping on the second floor for the last 23 years.
I can also remember walking through the pastures in the spring, when the rain had made little streams in the culverts next to the road. The sound of the clear water bubbling over the long, soft grass entranced me. Nature still draws me. Thank you for reminding me to keep an eye open for those opportunities to "let it back in" my life.