I scribble notes in front of the fire
In front of wild water and old forest
Miles from anything
But wild country

Thinking about it as I put a point on the pencil with my knife
I still very much like sharpening a pencil
Especially with a knife
Especially in front of a fire

Especially in the wild
Thinking about it
Friends coming in in one or two days
It will be good to see them

But I will probably have to speak
I like to watch myself drift out into the silence over the lake
In early morning, and early evening
There is knowledge within that silence

Old knowledge
Whispering secrets to the cool breezes
The fire pops... sparks drift upward
The knife sticks up and out of the stump

The light of the moon shows over the trees
A fish rises
A star pokes a hole in the sky
The pencil slowly moves across the page