PRIVATE LOG
Star Date 2008.23.12
Local Date 23 DECEMBER 2008, 1930 h.
Earth, interior Alaska.

The hairy stick-eaters were here again today. Fortunately, we had escaped before dawn, traveling the 10 km to the employment facility, and so missed their onslaught. Upon our nocturnal return, the seasonal retention of precipitation as frozen particles (“snow”), which covers the earth here in a white blanket for half of this planet’s annual cycle, gave clear indication of their earlier presence. We were lucky to have missed them, but they had been unable to erase their tracks across this seasonal slate. And, perhaps to taunt us, they had once again turned out the lights. We keep a seasonal array of many small lights wrapped around a nearby perennial plant (a “tree”) to give some dimensionality to the ports in our dwelling. During the excessively long nocturnal periods here at this time in the annual cycle, these transparent panels are usually cheerless, reflective black surfaces, only less oppressive when the shades are drawn, enabling us to focus inward, rejecting their presence. This is the season when the hairy stick-eaters come in greater numbers to threaten our security. Drawing the shades also prevents them from spying on us, and we hope that it thwarts their planning.

Their nocturnal vision is superior to ours, and they are very large. So, while we believe that they are not particularly clever, it would be very difficult to overcome them in hand-to-hand combat. And so we live in vigilance, careful to observe their presence, and, when they are present, their behavior. We have a Carnivore’s Guide to Local Dining, which stipulates legalities regarding when locally available meats are ripe; but, alas, this year the hairy stick-eaters did not cooperate with this edict and avoided the coincidence of their own ripeness with carnivory’s toothsome waxing.

At this season, therefore, with nocturnal conditions dominating (existing for over 20 hours per 24-hr day at this time and place in the planet’s cycle), we must live together in mutual and curious juxtaposition, each threatening the other, though with their interests legally in ascendancy. On the few occasions when our paths cross on shared territory, our carriages (“cars”) do seem to give them pause, especially when our “headlights” (exceedingly bright lights to help us guide these craft) enlighten their otherwise predominantly dark lives. But their cavortings generally do not seem to be swayed by our presence, externally or internally. At times they will attempt to surround our dwelling, sometimes even feigning sleep just outside our exits, an effective way to keep us trapped.

The small external illuminators hung in the plant outside our domicile are fed by a tied-off cord that extends electricity to provide an oasis of light in the outdoor darkness. We tie this cord off to a large mass (a “picnic table”) to prevent the hairy stick-eaters from absconding with it—a lesson we learned in earlier dark periods. We suspect that they are not very clever in part because they cannot untie our simple knots. And so now they simply disconnect the extension cord from the lights to flaunt their nocturnal superiority, perhaps in frustration with our absence. But, following the winter solstice of two days ago, it is all downhill now for us with our superior diurnal vision. So we will continue to crouch hidden in our domicile and watch for their coming.