The Cabin Above the Birch Line

The cabin stood where the birches became too small to be called a forest. Below it, their white trunks filled the slope. Above it, the mountain kept only grass, stone, and weather.

Aya arrived before snow to close the shutters on the north side. She swept the hearth, stacked six pieces of wood, and shook the wool blankets over the railing.

In the cupboard she found salt, tea, and one jar of dried pears. She wrote these on a card for whoever came next, though she did not know whether that would be in a week or after winter.

Cloud moved down the valley and made the lower villages disappear. Aya lit no fire. Her work had warmed the room enough.

She closed the door but left the east shutter open. Morning light, if it came, would find the table. Snow, if it came first, would rest against the glass. The cabin was ready for either.