This house will hide me from the blizzard. I’m building a wooden house, each log notched and fitted by hand. Snow already dusts my shoulders as I lift another timber into place. The wind howls promises of white oblivion, but these walls will stand. I drive the final peg home. Inside, the air is still. I strike a match; flame catches, pushing back the gathering dark. Beyond the chinking, the storm screams its fury. But here, in this small geometry of shelter, I am no longer prey to the sky’s rage. The fire breathes. I am safe. For now, that is enough.
