Last summer, there was a series of magnificent lightning storms. Night after night I fell asleep on my back deck, feet resting on the iron rods surrounding the deck, my wicker rocking chair creaking with my every move while I watched the lightning. I eventually stole the cushions off the couch and made a make-shift bed. Then I realized this habit wasn't changing anytime soon, and I moved my bed outside. I think it may have stayed there until snow threatened. Then the winter came, the bed moved back inside, and I've been waiting for summer ever since.

Sometimes everything outside looks so lovely I think I wouldn’t mind if it crept inside and stayed a while. Anytime I see the silhouette of the trees whistling in the wind I think that maybe they should come inside and their fluttering leaves could fly around my bed and their twisted trunks could be my bed posts, and I’d sleep and watch their leaves float. And there might be rose petals, there might be peach trees, but everything would be lovely. And I would be surrounded in it. The sky would stay that lavender color with hints of peaches and hues of cream twisted throughout.The sun would stay just between the horizon and nothingness. And it would be my world. I’d let it inside if I could. Shatter the windows and release the locks. But I can’t.

So I think it’s about time to move my bed outside.