BETWEEN HEMISPHERES: Notes from the rude hours

Christmas in Ibiza, photo Victoria Durrer-Gasse

When I wake during the rude hours

To find the light still loitering between hemispheres,

I rise, make tea,

then build a nest from rugs and cushions

to snuggle – undercover,

hoping to crack the secret in the silence.

Who is the creature lurking deep inside the woodpile,

sharpening tiny teeth on kindling?

Is it furry and cute,

or antennaed and bug-eyed?

Might a morsel of Gruyère cheese

convince a handful of furry mischief

to venture out

for covert introductions

if I promise not to tell?

If it is bug-eyed,

however,

it is welcome to remain

turning firewood

into sawdust.

Alas,

I am not (yet) well-versed

In beetle delicatessens,

but at least the woodpile is stocked high.