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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.
Wooden Fences
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!
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