The cabin is nestled into
the steep, wooded ridge of the forest.
The slope ends abruptly, steps away.

After dark,
the night creatures peer in.
Yet, we venture out.

The campfire reassures;
around it, our faces are cast orange
by its fading embers.

First the bats swoop in –
treetop level, scooping bugs –
mosquitoes we hope.

The rustling of leaves up the ridge
under the dark canopy
remains a mystery.

The coyotes scream a frightful warning
to the deer from ridge to ridge.
The outcome inevitable and unmistakable to the ear.

The owls hoot and screech;
Such a hullabaloo is rarely heard.
Except here.

It is night in southern Appalachia.
The creatures declare:
Here, you are merely a visitor.

© Michael M. Barrick, 2012 – 2017. Photo credit: Ray Hennessy