It's so hot in the building we've been sleeping with the big windows open, even throughout the thirty-six hours of heavy rain languishing the area. The sound of the wind disturbing the trees is at our feet, like an ocean before camp, and that wind, hegemonic this season, barrels in and washes over furnishings, blankets, and sleeping faces while the rain falls dutifully on the sills.

In our dreams we are safe inside the warmth of summer storms, it's refreshing like that. But here it is, November. If we were outside we'd run armored between buildings and cars. And when I wake from airy slumber at least, I find the autumnal detritus of dismembered trees littered throughout the living room.