winter

 

Out for a walk on a winter’s day, I come upon a fence. The fence is made of wood and falling down here and there, so I know that no one cares to make repairs and keep me out.  A thought by Robert Frost comes to mind that good fences make good neighbors. Hmm-m, I pause, I stop and watch the fence and yet it does not move. It does not keep the rabbit out nor the yelping dogs, and surely not the deer. They who run and jump love a strong and sturdy fence that says to those who carry guns, keep out.

Still, I shout, hello, to see if anyone replies.

Stay, it says silently.

With not a soul in sight to give offense, should I cross or stay? An old fence in the woods and far, far, far from home, it seems to me, is not so neighborly. And now a thought for an old man who is frail, and cannot climb a fence.

Would it be a crime, should I remove a log or two?

Oh, the winter is quite wicked with its biting, whining wind and snow. Oh, my careless woes.

winter-fence-broken

 

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