Fencerows

 

 He drove the grubbing hoe into open ground and looked back down the fencerow towards the house, back in the direction he had come.  The fence was sagging and soft; the wires were stretched, rusted and bent and the wooden posts leaned at odd angles like a loose set of bad teeth, but but across the distance he had worked the cedars and mulberrys were gone, allowing the fenceline to re-emerge.  And instead of feeling tired or sore, he discovered that he felt younger, as though the act of removing the scrub and weeds between each post was removing years off his age and returning him to his youth, when the fence was new and bright and straight.

Fencerow in Summer

Fencerow in Summer

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