This is what I see through the cabin window. At night, of course, it is totally black. The cabin is not insulated so that when it gets chilly at night I am very glad of the baseboard heater. Last night here beside the lake I am told by my iPad that it dipped to 5 degrees. An uninsulated cabin where the iPad works? Yes, I pick up the signal from the “big house” next door. There is no lock on my door and there is a gap of about half an inch under it. where an enterprising mouse might decide to venture. In fact, after the one time when I did spot a little grey mouse in here, I have only seen ants, the occasional moth, a mosquito or two. I suppose he heard me stamping about and fled to quieter quarters in the whispering leaf-scented wood. I can see the shimmering lake through another window. Today the water is moving right to left which means a North wind. Still cold enough for a sweater and a touch of warmth from the radiator. My cabin, unlike the big house, sits in shade a lot of the time and so it has that cool,damp atmosphere of summer houses. What keeps me from sleeping in the full outdoors? A few flimsy walls, the thin door, sash windows with single panes, the shingled roof. The trees are close by the leaves swaying and trembling close to my face. Last night I got into bed and discovered that I had left the little light over the door burning. The sight of the gnarled birch trunk illuminated and close, close to my window was too much. I had to get up and turn it off. And then total silence and total blackness. What does Dylan Thomas say? “I got into bed, I said some words to the close and holy darkness, and then I slept.” Not quite right but you must find the quote by yourself
White moth, dark moth, mottled grey, feathered moths
Why do you approach us, with our houses, our boats,
clinging to the edge of the lake?
Our cabins, our railings, and beach chairs.
Oh, white moth and dark moth, how have you strayed here?
Away from cool moss, from pine seedlings
Away from mushrooms, yellow or deadly white and from dead leaves
In the cool woods where trees fall alone.
White moth and dark moth, welcome in the damp-mist morning,
before the last dream of a bridge
Where is the dream, white moth, dark moth?
Fading away with the last turn into the pillow,
like the lake mist fading up, away from the gone night.
And here is day, white moth and dark moth.