There are few things that are more poetic and comfy than sitting outside and reading or writing with a light breeze passing over me. The world seems so at peace, and I feel like a character from an old book or an old historical figure, enjoying sophisticated entertainment in a beautiful garden.

But in southern California, the seasons don’t like to let me do that. They tend to either be too hot to even think about sitting outside for an extended period of time, or chilly enough to be uncomfortable if there’s a breeze.

So instead of sitting in a beautiful garden, with a light breeze blowing by, I sit in my room and read instead. Which is really anti-climactic.

But I have a ceiling fan, and it has a setting that feels exactly the way that a light breeze should feel. It’s not quite the same, sure, but that’s where my imagination comes in—which should happen in reading anyway.

Maybe I should get flowery wall-paper?