Swinging. Careening. Cloud-to-soul revealing. That's when I noticed the rusty latch at the tip-top of the wooden fence. The wooden fence I thought we shared with our backyard neighbors. So I crept close and jiggled the latch and got impatient when it wouldn't budge. So I hammered the fence with the side of my slightly able fist, and the door went creak and I took a furtive peak. I bet you want to know what I saw, don't ya? A world of pebbles and hollow stripes, silently peering into a land of primly pruned shrubs and delicate vines and ornate stools of iron. The stripes kept us apart, and I liked it that way, behind the fence. In between the fences. A world of pebbles and empty snail homes, silently leading to unknown corners and buried wonders of rubble.
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