A day's talking is
done—now the rain's soft patter
outside is enough.
Inside, low light and
a soft chair; outside, peaks reach
into the dark night.
An unlocked door, a
room with a bed—sleep well, and
pay in the morning.
July, and wood stacked
by the hearth promises light,
heat for short, cold days.
Question after an
arduous climb: insight
or just a light head?
On the peak's leeward
side—moss and flowers cling to
scant dirt on hard rock.
Returning to camp
at night, my light finds five pairs
of yellow eyes that
watch from the pine's boughs: raccoons
beginning the second shift.
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