A small, brown bird flits from one fence post to the next, cocking its head as it lands, listening for something. Satisfied, it flies off on some unknown mission.
A creeping plant makes its way up the wire, decorating the otherwise ordinary barricade. Someday, in the warm months to come, people will admire its blossoms, but for now its small, slender vine will do.
The rambler, though, is not thinking of a physical fence, but rather the fences that we each have around different parts of our lives, our hearts. She considers the fences she knows are guarding her hopes, her dreams. It is seldom that she opens the gate around this part of her life, and allows someone to view where she hopes to be in ten years. These fences are probably to be kept up for now, and are to be valued.
Other fences, though, are abundant in the life of the rambler. When she becomes irritated with another, a fence goes up, and her lips get pressed into a tight line. The few words that escape are uttered in a barbed wire tone that cuts far worse than the silence, and the fence only grows taller.
Something she is slowly learning about fences is that they are much harder to take down than they are to build. How hard it is to smile again after the librarian expression has been adopted; how hard to say something softly when she has allowed a biting word to escape.
As with pulling up a t-post, pulling down emotional barriers is a painful, sometimes slow-going process that she tries to avoid...but it is also necessary. It is difficult to work around unwanted fences, and the same goes for those around her heart.
Over and out,