We reached the fence at the far side of the field and thought to linger.
How long the fence had stood; how old the world was. We did not know.
To be clear, the fence did not keep us. It was a mere suggestion
about space and time. Heeded only by the largest animals.
It was a fence. The breeze was settling or picking up. We were given pause.
We stood by, considering the state of the world. Our life of domesticity.
That the washing needed to be done. Every surface smoothed clean.
Even the big questions came to mind. What lay before us.
Where the good light waits. We knew the sun was in the sky and we turned
our backs accordingly. Beneath our feet, the earth was soft and fertile. Of course
we were up to the task. There’s nothing to it, we told ourselves. Just be careful
where you place your hand. How quickly you kick your legs over the splintering rail.
— from Juniper Volume 6, Issue 1