The Gate

The gate remains.
The fence is gone, gone long ago, but the gate remains.

I prefer it closed, which I know is absurd.
But there is solidity in a closed gate, there is definition.

From the street, the open gate invites travelers, passersby, to enter. To come up the driveway, past the house, into the sanctuary of the back.

I dislike travelers moving into my space, my haven.

So I close the gate, as I close drawers and push chairs under tables and straighten pictures. Because that is the truth of them, that is their proper resting place.

As is mine. Resting in place. Solaced in the angle of repose.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s