Narrative of a Narcissist

3:57 a.m. June 8th. He lay and watch the figment of the room in shadows. The memory and sleepiness creating a fog of his mind . He knows the length of the bed from his feet slightly hanging off and his forearms above him on the cool wood of the head board.
For three minutes he plays the mathematics in his mind. The dimensions of the room in light and dark.  The perceptible bulb of cold air emanating from the window, the number of paces to the door. Four. The length of the shadows of books drawn on the wall by the flashing alarm clock

4:00 a.m.
blink blink blink.

A cold coffee and cigarette, he packs sandwiches for the day. Bread and mustard and meat, a pickled egg, setting in ice, the truck started and warming. A cough as he inhales another cigarette and the cold air in the cab. Slow past the elk and deer grazing, past the old store and to the dirt roads.

The dew on the pine needles and ferns appeared grew until the sun first showed itself. Hinting at morning. His hands pink and cold holding the steering wheel, dialing the heater down so he can take the cool now and reduce the shock of getting out of the truck into the cold forest air.

Unloaded the tools and sharpen the saw before walking into the brush. The overflow from the bar oil and mix fuel dripping on his shoulder as he sets out. Cold bar of the saw drawing the warmth from him.
The birds start their chatter as comes the sun.

8:00 a.m. Weary but not broken. The tree on the ground, marked, measured and cut. The burdens drawn uphill through the rough path laid with his boots. A path traveled and retraveled until the tasks done. The load tied down and the tools loaded. The slow ride home.

He flattens the grass in his tracks the way he'd entered. Green to be gold soon, it lay over for him. The smell of grass and mountain flower perfume being pressed from under his tires.

The road home is always the longest will a full load and an empty belly. Nerves ascue from coffee and cigarettes and labor all day. To the home silent with aches and exhaustion. Dinner and a drink suffered alone. Without much thought given to anything that is not rest or a belly full.

A hot cup of coffee and the confines of the walled room. The dimensions more familiar. The feeling of the cold sheets as his body lay to them. The light falling from his eyes faster than the sun from the sky.  Thy day is done. The cold closing his mind. The days to come.