He came in the quiet amid the stillness of the night. And made such a clamprous scene as I tried in vein to sleep.
A small creature of the wood whose courage belied his size.
I shouted and clapped and hit the tent with my hand, but he would not flee.
He would not leave me to rest to the sound of nothingness that otherwise prevailed.
Instead he would resume his torment of me mere minutes later.
And I would lay cozy in my down bag, as the moon crept across the sky, washing out the countless stars waiting interminable, for his next fearless foray across the roof of my tent.
How can he even climb the sharp sloping sides, it seems impossible for a mouse his size? Yet he does.
How can he squeeze his body between the union of the three zippers of the tents door? Yet he did?
And yes I invited him to eat through a bag of granola and he accepted. Now I can't be rid of him. He torments me, angrily wanting to be readmitted to the inner sanctum of my cozy tent.
I saw his underbelly once, in the night.
Illuminated by my solar powered light.
His white fury belly scampering on the mesh of the screen door.
Quite cute, I thought at first.
What a marvel what an acrobat.
As the hours of the night bleed past my thoughts of the rodent changed.
I mused of poisons, and snares, or a trap that would go satisfactorily snap in the night.
Dead mouse crawling across the roof of my tent.