The wind rattles the trees that envelop her house deep in the near impenetrable woods. It’s her home, but the structure is more like a camp really. She burns wood for heat and fetches water from the nearby stream to drink and cook. She chose this life after completing another. Filing it away in an abstract box somewhere in her mind’s eye. She became fatigued of this fast-moving generation of tech and side-stepping youth who seldom offer a word except when chatting on their phones – shifting like swift swimming sea creatures. She wanted to slow it down and hear the rumble of the forest: the crows that bark, the coyotes that howl and the crisp crunch of deer hooves on dead leaves and fallen snow.
On occasion she fishes for trout and salmon. She heard from the previous owner that at one time the fish practically flew out of the water to greet a line. Now she’s lucky to catch a single fish in a week. The stock has depleted itself to near non-existence. Still the current remains steadfast, massaging the river stones as if polished gems waiting to be set when the sun basks the banks with its relentless force.
~
There is electricity here and she does enjoy reading and playing the odd tune from time to time. Usually, she prefers to hear the songbirds that call throughout the thicket and wonders what they sing about. Probably announcing possible foe alerts, or don’t come home without dinner or searching for a mate. She has given up on that business. The collection of winter wood and caulking against the elements takes her mind of that. Once, an individual came to her in need for a phone when he had car trouble, but she subsists without one. She let him charge his own phone though. Her cabin is visible against the black night with its cozy warm lit light up a winding dirt road. She could tell that he thought her strange to live here completely alone when he inquired how does she enjoy the isolation? But her assured response made him ask no more. The radio provides all she needs to know about the world and when she doesn’t want to know it is simply left turned off in its corner nook. The voices of the trees are preferable with their rustles, whooshes and roars dependent on the strength of the wind and winter snow. The weight on the branches, the creaks of their interior souls. The summer heat that presses down with all of its might.
~
The forest creates routine. One must be aware of the elements and all that they bring. A roof must be managed against the fallen leaves, so it will drain without difficulty. The cold little beasts must be kept out from burrowing in from the chill that batters down for more than six months at a time. Timber must be kept dry for fires. The small outbuilding must be managed for the storage of fuel and be maintained to protect her tools that toil. Snow shoes and sleds are housed here.
She used to be a city gal. Yet, all the banter and barrage of the current state has driven her towards this new conception. She wanted to rid herself of past desires and utilize only what is needed. To survive, to be in the present, and leave the past hooked on the hustle of the urban beat. Here, she must live in real time. To embrace the elements free from judgement and to make choices dependent on daily requirements. It seems to center her. Distractions are not distracting except when a predator gets too close for her liking. In those times she must be redirected to the demands of the day. Bang a stick on a tree, stand up and shout aggressively or simply barricade herself inside if a bear and her cubs saunter by when they smell her dinner cooking on the woodstove. She prefers wildlife instead of a mugger or burglar prowling the city streets, for those folk are often armed.
~
She has no kin and most of her acquaintances have long since disappeared. That’s how life goes. It just gets busy or on the flipside so boring that people can’t be bothered to reach out and deliver little tidbits of inconsequential nothings. She doesn’t miss that chitchat which goes nowhere just to have human contact. The simple trademarks of creature comfort. No. She prefers the stars at night, especially if there is a meteor shower. The hoot owls that hunt during the deep night keeping her company and the hawks that fly by day. There’s an owl not far from her cabin that helps keeps the rodents at bay and feels like a companion. She sometimes leaves little things for him or her to eat as a token of solidarity. She isn’t a hunter and she tried keeping chickens, but they are easy marks with foxes and other animals. She has an old car that she uses for food provisions in a little town about forty-five minutes away and makes the trip once a month for groceries. She can be part of things if she chooses to be, but she chose otherwise.
~
Each season she notices the changes. The strength of the summer heat. The river becoming shallower. It’s been nearly impossible to catch a fish this year. The visiting animals don’t make a call and she is concerned about those things. She heard on the radio that the summer fires have stared early this year and that’s a worry. Animals are privy to these transitions and probably have already made alternative escape plans since a fire has begun about fifty miles from her spot. If the wind is right, it could bring it to her. Even the river won’t protect her. It will swallow up everything in its path. Every year they get worse. The cities boil up with baking concrete and fierce, sizzling wind tunnels. The forests disappear along with wildlife and habitat. What will be left for future beast and man? She can’t think about that now. The fire is on its way to her and her vehicle won’t start. She heads to the road, the smoke getting thicker hoping a passing someone will see her outstretched thumb.
~
Susan E Lloy is the author of three short story collections, But When We Look Closer (2017), Vita (2019) and Nothing Comes Back (2023). She has just completed her fourth collection, Only Six Stars at Night. Lloy lives in Montréal.