Today, it's to be a poem "that features walls, bricks, stones, arches, or the like."
Which puts me in mind of a wonderful book I read years ago, non-fiction, (googlegooglegoogle—ah!) Stone Work, by John Jerome. He moves to the country, has to mend a fence, and the book becomes a meditation on how good it is to get out and build something, and how building a stone wall is learning how to put "one stone on two, two stones on one". I wonder who we lent that book to; haven't seen it around here in yonks.
And as it's nearly ten at night, and I'm actually in the middle of alphabetizing my chapbooks, this is going to be a short write.
One of the panels in the curtilage fence collapsed.
The replacement's not yet grey like its companions,
but it won't take long.
That's the thing about wooden fences;
they don't last forever.
No matter. Neither do we.
If I'd done this during daylight, I'd have added a picture of the offending panel!