by Coby Rosser
Sounds emanate from just beyond the thicket of trees enveloping the clearing on which your campsite rests. You hear those noises. Twigs snapping. Ululations of nocturnal creatures. Wind rustling leaves. But you just roll over, snug in your sleeping bag, content in the safety of your warm firelight. Fire is your luminous shield against tenebrous nightmares, why you heartily stoked the flames before turning in, but there is no sight beyond the immediacy of a campfire. Night collapses in, an ocean of darkness full of unknown things.
I am soundless as you snore—as I snuff out your precious light.
Coby Rosser is a weathered computer analyst that lives in an extraordinarily old house in the middle of the woods somewhere in the southeastern US. Time permitting, he writes speculatively, shoots bows and arrows, and plays classical guitar.