The dust from the screeching

tyres rose behind us as

the bus pulled in

in front of the unknown lodge.

It made our loose bags

hanging out of the

overhead bins.

The lodge owner grabbed

a bottle of house wine

from the fridge and

invited us for a drink.

I could still feel the wine on

my breathe next morning.

The fresh local fish

frying on a weathered pan over

a wood fire puffed out its

smoke from the corner of the hut

while its smell filled the room.

As the shades of dusk

began to fall slowly

The night quietened, except

for the wolf’s howl piercing

the empty silence of the night.