For years now I’ve lived in old houses or buildings with warped window frames, through which the wind whistles and howls. My first apartment was like that. Chunks and splinters tore from old wood sills; we taped up garbage bags with duct tape, too young and too broke to care about aesthetics.

In the place I’ve lived for five years now, the wind is often loud, especially in storms. The sound made it impossible to close the windows tightly and still sleep, so in winter, I found a balance between wind and cold, leaving enough space so the wind would not screech me awake as often, more blankets on the bed against the cold that came in too. I thought no more about it.

This year, the Photographer brought foam strips for the undersides of the windows, which can now shut tightly.

It is odd, suddenly, to sleep in that warm, silent space.