Last night, I grabbed my pillow, little eye pillow, and a bundle of flannel sheets and went outside to the screened-in porch where we just happen to have a futon bed. I set it up, made the bed and got in, my first time sleeping outside in a long time. The air was alive with sudden rushes of breezes then quiet. The crickets kept their time. Occasional owls’ callings came through the wind.
I went out there because I didn’t want to miss sleeping outside before it gets cold although, given the summer we had, it’s still hard to truly imagine cold weather. What I found was such a rich nest of restfulness that for the first time in years (maybe over a decade), I slept through the night, cocooned in flannel and wind. The only drawback was waking up with a little too much ragweed pollen, but even that faded quickly.
It was wonderful to be part of the night, the sky filling the porch, breaking me out of the far more still air (even with a ceiling fan) of the house. I’m fascinated by the history of sleeping porches, and now, having done this, I wonder why we don’t build our houses and lives around ways to comfortably sleep outside.