My front porch. It’s cool in the summer and warm in the fall. Sometimes carpenter bees sniff around in the spring, but that’s what tennis rackets are for. Three seasons a year, I stretch out on this sunny, splintery porch with a view of one world passing by and another, smaller world in my hands. Sometimes I fall asleep out there, one cheek plastered on the page, and of course that’s when I have my best dreams.
—Elisabeth Egan, A Window Opens