Day 2: Old, hot dust
On Wednesday night, we slept with our windows open. The temperature had settled down, as well as the humidity. I much prefer sleeping in fresh, night air. Though it was cooler, we still needed a fan to keep the air moving. So, David plugged one in—a fan that had belonged to his Grandma, one from her old farm house.
As I lay in the dark, I began to smell a familiar, nostalgic smell—the smell of old, hot dust. Do you have any idea what I’m talking about? When I was a little girl, we had an attic fan. Once the sun went down and we prepared for bed, my parents would open all the windows and turn on the attic fan. With tremendous force, it would begin to draw all the hot air up and out of the house and pull the cool air from outside in. And I would begin to smell old, hot dust.
I don’t know how else to describe it. It wasn’t musty air. It was dusty. It wasn’t fresh air, it smelled old and stale. And it felt warm, as it swirled past me, drawn upward, into the attic. That’s the sensation I experienced Wednesday night.
On it’s way out
Tickling my nose
A prayer of response:
Spirit of the Living God,
Blow through my life, drawing out from it all the stale leftovers of your breath and replacing them with new breath, new life—fresh and clean.