It was set to be an interesting day. The sun had risen in a murky sky and the air was still. I stood by the wood stove, mug of tea in hand, warming my shins. Mid-autumn and I kept the fire going overnight to take off the chill. Without the fire, the cabin would be frigid. Other than in summer, the sun barely made an impression on the windows throughout the course of its daily passage.
I’d slept well. It had taken a few moments of wakefulness to recall the unwelcome company of Wayne, locked in my shed. When I did, I hurled myself out of bed and filled the kettle.
I used the two-ringed camping stove to boil the water and cook my rice porridge. It was a morning ritual. I kept the heat nice and low. Rice porridge was apt to burn on the bottom and I wasn’t having my shack stinking of burnt mi
