I sat on a cold floor with my right shoulder against one wall and my back against another. I surveyed the surroundings. I was in a long one room log cabin. I noticed how it portrayed my circumstances.
The cabin was lit by eerie moonlight. The window to my right and in front of me was the only window that allowed the full moon’s shine to enter the room. Each wall had two windows with the exception of the wall to my right. In the place of my wall’s second window was a closed wood door. A few small slits between the door’s boards allowed a little more light into the cabin; not enough to give comfort, enough to reveal my location.
The bottom half of my window let a light breeze flow past and through sheer window dressings. The breeze carried a strong scent of pine and moss. The window’s dressings were the only motion in the room besides my rapidly pulsating chest.
The cabin was furnished with rustic furniture. To my left was a couch made of varnished logs and thick, fluffy violet cushions. The couch was paired by a chair. Between the pair was a small end table comprised of logs and an old crate. On the table sat a just-emptied kerosene lamp and a stack of misaligned hardback books that could give my mind an escape if there was no reason to stay alert.
The center half of the far end of the cabin consisted of a stone fireplace. Red coals slowly increased and decreased in luminescence. The coals shed little light on a very old rocking chair placed before the fireplace. Over the fireplace were two five-point deer antlers. I dared not expose my location by rekindling the fire.
In the left corner of the same wall that contained the fireplace, I saw the silhouette of a small unused bed. The bed was made of logs and covered with an unseen quilt and a long pillow. I longed to enjoy the bed and the comfort of sleep that it used to bring. Yet, I longed to but dared not walk to it, lay in it, and fall asleep.
Although the right corner of the opposite wall was dark I knew that it possessed a tall dresser and a small desk. I wished the desk contained a radio, a phone, or some other means to call for help. The only thing it contained was blank sheets of paper. Writing a letter for help would do no good. The closest post office was so far away I knew not where it was. I would remain alone.
The corner opposite the couch next to me contained a black iron stove, a small porcelain sink, a small wash tub, and a small wood table with two wood chairs. The silhouetted iron stove was the only item visible in that corner. It looked like a frozen soldier. Why couldn’t he come to life and fend for me? He would not. I would have to fend for myself.
The only other items in the dim room were wood shelves that lined the upper ends of all four walls. The shelves contained canned food, dishes, kerosene, rifle shells, traps, fishing gear, an ax, and other items necessary for an extended stay in the wilderness. It seemed that I had prepared for everything. I had not.
Fear, anxiety, and weariness caused me to stink of sweat. Was it the rank dampness in the breeze? “No,” I told myself. “The potent smell was fear and anticipation.”
My stench was because wolves came every night. For many months they came. They were as regular as clockwork. They became my clock. I purposely did not keep a clock in the cabin. The twenty-four hours in the day did not mean anything to me when I first arrived. I woke up when the first sunlight and the first birds rose. I ate when I was hungry. I worked when needed. I read in a chair on the porch when I wanted to relax. I fished and hunted when I wanted meat. I worked the garden and groves so I could eat vegetables and fruit. I went to sleep when the sunset.
