I dreamed very vividly of Grandma's house. Maybe it's just this time of year-- summer, and heat, and sunshine; and this summer just opens the door to memories of other summers. Grandma kept her house like a cool dark cave. You could smell pine-sol on her freshly scrubbed linoleum floors, the rooms were cluttered with knick-knacks and endless bunches of books, and little dogs curled up sleeping in their baskets or at the end of a sofa. (Fans hummed)
I remember lying on my stomach across the foot of my bed upstairs, reading a book by a barely opened window to the east, the diffused light and all the little sounds of summer-- a lawn mower in the distance, birds, the rustling leaves in the large tree outside my window, a dog barking.
It was very peaceful. You felt as though summer would never end, and you would be thirteen forever.