Boundaries

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

These old meadow-larked fields have their

tumbled rock walls with golden lichen suns,

and the forest, its shaggy edge.
My cabin has a magnificent mahogany

door, solid and rich vibrant brown,

salvaged from someone who could not love it

like I can; do not give away privilege to the

first hellos and last goodbyes of any given

day unless there

is great joy in it, and some amount of longing.

Boundaries have their place.

When I first moved to this mountain land, I

raced about in the thick duff putting up

‘No Trespassing’

signs on any tree that would agree to hold them.
But the trespassers and those big black bears take

them down: one malicious, one curious.

I’ve calmed a bit about the lines, well, more

accurately, somewhat surrendered, now making a

mark with silver paint, brushing on my grief for feeling

the need to do this at all – to say ‘No!’ because

the sacred is not always understood on sight.

What does one make of a life like this?
How many marks are needed

and in what form

for a woman to be heard?

“This is the threshold of my home.”

~ Jamie K. Reaser, Author

Published in  "Coming Home: Learning to Actively Love this World"

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