Sweet Virginia

My sister remember my sharing a room with my father when I must have been six or eight or maybe even ten. I don't know just when but he told me stories about growing up and we would laugh together at the things he did and the whippings he got for doing them. I would ask for more stories but not the one about the car hitting his dogs and to relax me he told me to imagine a cabin and me alone in the cabin with snow outside and cold inside and wolves barking and baying at the door. But the door was strong and wolves full of only noise and I was safe and always fell asleep. I can hear my father's voice and the wolves crying at the door and scratching their paws on the wooden porch outside the door and sometimes my father's voice is telling me what the wolves are doing and they are doing it and his voice fades as the wolves gather at the door and snap at each and each other and sometimes else I only hear my father's voice and the wolves are waiting quiet and still at the door, waiting to be wolves, to wonder what to do next.