Where Once Was a Bitter Fence

Midsummer now, and I’ve complained ad infinitum about the wild raspberries around the garden, but the garden’s gem this year is the raspberries, delectable and sun-ripe. My daughters are frequently around the edges of the garden, bent to the picking task with bowls in hands. Raspberries have formed the tastier bulk of many meals around here.

Where I had seen a barrier and an aggravation has become nourishment. I’m hardly about to let prickery vines overrun the property, but they’re gaining the upper hand, and the girls and I appear none-the-worse.

Early this morning, I pulled over on the roadside at a pasture where cows were grazing and wild turkeys ambled. I walked a little along the road, frogs cheeping, a hawk circling upward and away. Then I realized before me was an enormous sprawl of scotch thistle – hard and thorny – a veritable roadside fence of weed.

Many clouds rise up
clouds appear to form a fence
holding this couple;
They form layers of a fence
Oh, the layers of that fence.


About Brett Ann Stanciu

A writer and sugarmaker, Brett Ann lives with her two daughters in stony soil Vermont. Her novel HIDDEN VIEW was published by Green Writers Press in the fall of 2015. Let my writing speak for itself.
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