The Fence

Once, there was a girl who lived by a white fence.

The fence stood at the edge of a plateau, overlooking a vast canyon.

The canyon was so deep the bottom never saw light.

The girl lived in a cottage grown from the red stone of the plateau. There, she lived quietly, tending her house, and going for walks along the fence.

She had a friend, a boy, who lived inland from the canyon. He would visit the edge, now and again, and walk along the fence when all was still. From time to time, they would find each other, and she would walk back with him to his house, then return to her own in the evenings.

Some time ago, a section of her fence collapsed, rotted and eaten from within by parasites. The wood of the posts had been inferior quality, hidden under the white paint.

Her friend brought strong, new wood, and rebuilt the fence for her. She left the new section unpainted, so she would always know where it was.

She began to visit her friend more often, but always she returned to her red house by the white fence.

One evening, her friend followed her back to the fence, for he had realized that it was she who lived in the tiny place of stone by the edge.

He found her standing at the section of new wood, gazing down into the canyon. There was no light but the tiny lamp at her feet.

He took her hand, and tried to take her home--not to the lonely place of stone in which she slept, but his house among the trees, inland. The house of red stone was not safe, so close to the canyon.

She refused to go.

Life by the canyon was quiet, and no one bothered her so long as the fence was whole and strong. She could walk along the fence even in the dark, and not have to worry about wandering off the plateau. Even when part of it had failed, he had made it new again. It had been a kindness, a blessing--she was not strong enough to repair such a large section of fence so quickly on her own. Always, she was too weary.

Again, he tried to lead her away, back to the home of wood and warmth.

Again, she protested that she was too weary, and life inland was not quiet. She had made a place for herself here. She was safe, because the fence would always stand, even long after he had left.

Almost til morning, they stayed there, by the bare wood, lit by a lamp just bright enough to see each other by.

And finally, when first light began peeking over the canyon, when she thought he would walk away, when he thought his heart would break, she let him carry her home.

He never stumbled, not once.

She remembers. She will always remember.

Now and again, she thinks of the canyon, and goes to visit her little red house, and walk along her old fence.

And, without fail, he finds her, and leads her home.