Although I grew up in the country, I have lived in "the city" for a while now. I supposed I've grown accustom to the sounds of the city, and forgotten what it's like to live surrounded by nature.
This weekend, we were housesitting in a log cabin in the woods, and I did not get to bed until the wee hours of the morning. I was inspired to write the dreadful tale of getting far too little sleep last night thanks to the wooly wilderness.
It started with one tiny rustle
and then became a whole bunch-
the noise was faint, but plenty
all squeaking and scratching and such.
The fear in my stomach grew fierce
I pulled the covers across my face
The troops were scampering towards the bed
I had to get out of this place.
But, from the height of the bed I refused
to cross to the other side of the room
to turn on the light on the wall
for surely my toes were in doom.
Behind the dresser was where it started
but now they surrounded the bed.
The small furry creatures were many
and were darting around my head,
between the closet and bathroom,
beneath the nightstand too,
in the laundry pile and hallway,
and probably in my shoes.
The noises rose and developed
The peak of my fear had arched
the army was closer than ever
they scurried, they squealed, they marched.
When all the group was a frenzy
and I was sure to the bed, they’d leap-
the dog walked in, scared them away,
and I could finally get to sleep.