May 26 2007, 07:20 PM Flow

This house in which I sit does not have central air conditioning. Well, not in any conventional sense. The way to deal with air in this house is to do it the old fashioned way: open the windows. I don't mind this at all. It must be said that a large part of this is because when they built this place, there was no inkling of such beasts as central AC, so they built for summers. The ceilings are high. There are transoms over the doors (and they work, more glory). There are ceiling fans in most every room. Complex systems of cross breezes and outflow can be constructed, making curtains shiver and dance, or press upon the screens. I have a window AC unit that came with the house, and a good one it is, too, but I don't use the thing. I don't much need to.

One of the neat side effects of using one's windows for air is that the outside comes in with it. The windows have been open all weekend, and the house has been rolling with sound. The birds sing their songs, and the breeze moves through leaves. The highway permeates the background as a gentle hum, with occasional punctuation of trucks finding gear or fast motorcycles finding acceleration. The fire engine wails as it comes down the hill, and I wonder at where it might be headed, and what it will do there. It is good to have the world leak into the house; it is good to be connected.

One drawback: the thunderstorms, sometimes. The strong ones lash this place with wind and rain. I am somewhat in the lee, here, but it is sometimes not enough with the mad ones, and they can throw water right through the screens. So I button up the windward windows, settle in to watch, ready to close the shutters in the study should I need to.

There's a storm coming.