Leap high or low
Go fast or slow
But be barb-wise

Otherwise …
     be prepared
        for hair to snag
          and iron to drag

through skin
etching bloody lines
rusty reminders of folly.





Off Kilter

The fence line that crosses the creek is tired. It leans off kilter, like me some days.

Only barbwire keeps the weather-worn post from joining its reflection with a splash. Or perhaps it will be a slower end, a silent slipping-below-the-waves demise.

But for now it is still there. Still doing its job.

That’s all we can ask of anyone.