The Big Green Fence
The Big Green Fence
Life carried on
behind the big green fence.
It seemed negativity
could not penetrate
the faded paint outside.
Depression, wars, lost their sting
once one crossed that threshold.
I remember my uncle home on leave
dressed in his kilt and sporran. I did not know at the time
that it would be the last visit of the man I
recognized. He changed after the war
as if Uncle Joe had vacated the premises.
Uncle Stan was in the merchant Marine off of the
east coast. He came home with
a tattoo on his right arm. Time seemed slower
at the pace of the children living in
the grey stone house. We never feared strangers
or playing alone outside because the fence, like a warm
embrace, radiated love and safety. There were lawns of soft
plush grass to roll in and once a pony came by for pictures.
Flower beds well tended, jewels heaped here and there.
All of this floats in my memory now
a rainbow stream of myriad colours, softened by
time and distance. The remnants of that peace
remains grounded in my heart.
Copyright © Patricia Cresswell | Year Posted 2017
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