Nighttime

In that tiny clearing in the woods I lay in my tent. Had I push myself outside and stood up, as was my impulse, or even just poked my head out, I would have seen the vast expanse of stars. Now only visible, of course, in empty places like these. Instead, I just tossed and turned and listened to the wind.

I did not contemplate what brought me to the edge of this giant forest, now shaved and pockmarked by the clear-cutters. Those thoughts were passed, now supplanted by worries of attacks by bears or wolves as I always worried when sleeping alone in a tent in the middle of the woods. And the wind blew and blew and blew. A restless, wayward spirit. The scientist in me knows that it is simply the result of differential heating during the day, now being equalized through the motions of the air. But I cannot help, especially at times like these, hearing the work of spirits in the shifting winds rolling over the hills.