The screen being left wide open from the day’s heat is now billowing the curtains to the room’s interior, if they weren’t hung suspended they’d be on the other side of the room. The gusts in the dark room’s interior are welcome, it’s fresh cool air.
As if a switch is thrown, the winds subside as fast as they began. From outside the screen the faint sounds of raindrops, no flashes of lightning, no thunderous booms, indeed a very fine rain, a soft quiet rain, as quiet as the mouse I think I hear against the far wall’s floor. I’m never too sure if it’s a mouse; I need to hear the sound again. I listen in the dark. The cabin offers no more of an answer.
I could reach for a flashlight, or get up and turn on a light, but all my success from yesterday’s efforts, I’m sore. And I say I had a great plan the day prior to that, and with gathered supplies, I got so much accomplished, it felt fantastic. And for my plan to work, I needed a bit of help, no visitors, and no equipment to break down. All was well when I ended my day, my back now at this late hour definitely disagrees.
Across the room, a snap, I think my Victor got a Mickey. I need some aspirin because I’m not sleeping, so why not go see if what I heard moments ago on the floor will be silent for the rest of the night, as quiet as the rain that’s ceased.
--The trout whisperer
