I Am Too Tender to Live Among Wolves

Fall. Monday. 35 on the dial, 14 on the lever, 9.6 on the screen, falling. Sunrise, 6:47; sunset, 4:32. Lights burned out, eyes in the darkness, howls in the distance like opera.

Summer. Friday. 12 on the dial, 22 on the lever, 2.2 on the screen, rising. Sunrise, 9:30 (!); sunset, 9:30 (!) Every light burning bright, all day, all night. Impossible to sleep. No life in the woods, birds silent, leaves still. Windless and oppressive.

Fall. Sunday. 77 on the dial, 6 (!) on the lever, 11.8 on the screen, holding steady. Sunrise, NA; sunset, ibid. No sun, no moon. Twenty days ago probably red men with red swords broke through the clouds and smashed the fences. Moon, sun, stars, all gone piecemeal. Lights still burning making the sky sullen and red. Wolves inside the building, eyes human, voices echoing always around the next corner.

Spring. Tuesday. 18 on the dial, 18 on the lever, 1.8 on the screen, rising. Sunrise, 6:00; sunset, 6:00. Rain falling for last three months. Trees mostly underwater. Wolves, badgers, coyotes bent into the branches cheek to jowl with the birds, with the squirrels. Squirrels angry and armed with knives the size of a pin. An eye looking through the windows, an eye the size of a city block, red, red and questioning. I have no answers.