The Old Fence


When a man steps up to the treacherous edge of his

proverbial abyss, the vertigo can be unsettling.

All of life’s unlived moments scream like legion from that

dark hole. This morning I shucked off the notion of

routine and took a walk in the cold. The deer I had not seen in days

flushed out of the willow brush and cantered

gingerly along the frozen creek. They knew the ice was

one night thin. The biggest buck, sensing that I might be

snagged in a broad wariness, turned and kept his eye on

me. Men, in particular, can become dangerous when

they dwell unanchored on their personal insignificance. An

inkling of our plain existence is a uniquely human burden if

one chooses to shoulder it’s slow discomforts.

The old fence I built years ago with

second-hand materials needs to be taken up from

the ground and hauled away. I used to be afraid of

Sunday mornings. I am loosed in the prayer of garden work.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s