I’m on the fence

It’s prickly, it’s worn

There’s some moss up here

A few birds too but it’s otherwise forlorn

There’s no place to rest

Though up high I can’t see too clear

In my defense, I’ve been plowing for 15 years

Lady Wisdom is at the intersection

Where the fence meets the sidewalk and the next yard over

I balance from the wood post and make a call to her

Is she out to lunch

It’s quiet up on the fence

The wind blows

A serene suspense

I have a hunch

Maybe no one knows

My parents don’t say much

All my teachers and mentors are gone

I thought they knew everything

I’m on the fence at night and even at dawn

The wood is wearing and turning green

The trees are full this time of year but a barren branch stands out on a dead one

It reminds me of an osteoporotic bone

But a hawk perches there, in his momentary home

His eyes are sharp

In the breeze there’s a crackling

In the next moment he takes off and then is tackling a poor creature on the ground

That brittle branch he sat on crashes down

He flies off with breakfast

What a riddle

I try to digest this

An email comes through and I think about the last 6 years

The gremlins whisper and I wince

Lady Wisdom holds her invitation

I get off the fence