Fences Down Again

The vines had grown to the top of the fence. They’d grown over the fence and into the deck. They’d killed the grill, made the chairs impossible to sit in. They’d clogged the downspouts and were slowly but surely taking over the fabric of the house itself, prying wood from wood with their deceptive greenness.

They looked like freshness and spring and life, but like most of the rest of life they were good mixed with bad. Out of control they were as destructive as they were beautiful and it was time for them to go. When they were at last tamed, the old fences came down as well.

For the first time in a long time the western sun hit the quiet patch of ground where she liked to hide. For the first time in a long time she could sit on the swing and see the sunset paint the sky.

It was mothers day, the first since she’d lost her child, and she’d been hiding in her sadness. Long parts of days were spent remembering the times with him, when he used to play around the roots of those vines.

When the vines came down and she could again see the sky from her safe place she realised that was his gift to her. The knowledge that it was okay to look out and to let the world in.