I'm Jonas. 

I'm actually a woman. I'm 23 and I live at the edge of a forest. I'm out on my porch alone tonight as i usually am, getting some menial work out the way before sleep. You can hear the dry scuff of my thick soled shoes as they pace back and forward along the boardway. I move wood pieces about, clear scraps of metal i keep for no reason out of the way again, and occasionally you can hear the crack of an axe through a log, as i quietly go about my duties without too much effort.

Effort here is standard. To live a homestead life, a small pinch of muscle is a given. I don't startle the same way another person might. A life, long grounded in nature, makes a person resilient and peaceful inside. I have my thoughts, granted. My worries, just like any other person. But i just go about my doings, and i don't get too stuck down with what i can't control. The here and now is what i see to. This cabin. I've lived here for years. And i keep it well. It's modest compared to contemporary expectation. But it has everything you're looking for. As long as you like junk metal and a whole lot of eiderdown quilts. I kept every one that was passed down to me right to my sisters' own. I was never as delicate with a needle the way she is. I can do clever things with one. Just not embroidery. So i hold to them. And they bring good times. I could probably put my mind to something like that. Yeah. I reckon i could. I'm sure i could be delicate.

Cracks a log chunk in two and tosses the pieces in a pile, with only the gentle lilt of the artless night to be heard around me.