Between here and there an escape just large enough for those chickens who stand so whitely alongside that glazed wheelbarrow. (Yes, William Carlos Williams fills my emptiness some days). On one side, marigolds which they love to eat and on the other, their coop and then there’s me. The portal. I wish one would cry: “Transport!” as she bobbed through. Oh yes, I'd love to be a tunnel, like in The Duchess of Malfi for I crave romance. But no. A hole left by a rotten paling is oft ignored, sometimes "repaired" (aka removed), definitely never celebrated in literature’s fenceless wilderness.
Written for Miz Quickly Day 9 (“As seen by Quickly”)