I sleep with the windows open. My blankets and pillows are damp with humidity and spastic deluges of rain pass through the yard. I can hear wet leaves shake off their water as the wind shakes them. The sun punches through the cloud cover, and everything steams in the light. As I rest, the sights and sounds remind me of camping, of nights spent outdoors in the middle of the woods, and other mornings in my life when the daisies reached up so I could pick them.