Early in the morning, before the sun is up, I climb the hill to my studio. Today the wind is howling, shaking the cabin and the window panes and the tall trees of the forest behind. I like to work by candlelight at this hour while dawn slowly, slowly fills the room. Tilly snores softly at my feet. I can hear the owls in the winter wood, the rain-swollen stream, the restless wind. I am here to write, but sometimes it is better to sit still and just listen.