The fence was there long before I came along, on this walk that by happenstance delivered me to this field. Across the field in waist high grass, my feet sinking into grass-padded mud I trudged.
Falling down, in disrepair, rust had claimed the strength of this fence and with it's remaining grip, it barely supported the wires and crossmembers. Overgrown with the same grass covering the field, I wondered about the fence's intent - originally to keep something in, or something out....now but a marker of a barrier that meant something once and now needs little reminder. Sharp, rusted corners of failing barbed wire contrast with the sparse construction overall - an interesting juxtaposition of frailty armed with aggressive intent.
I walk along, my dog and I, still sinking in the mud, and I wonder how many fences, similarly frail and sharp, I have hidden in the overgrowth of my own mind and heart, what I originally built them for, and if they still have any meaning.