Fencing Time

Across an empty field, turning green but spotted with yellow as the dandelions make their annual appearance, a gangly man—bald, bearded, wearing shorts, an undone plaid shirt, and headphones—walks proudly, marching almost, from one corner to another, with no apparent destination other than the perimeter of his field. No one’s watching. No one’s cheering. Still, he completes the circuit with something like purpose.

moving day
the yard smaller
than he remembered

An SUV pulls up in front of an office building. The hatch pops open. From the driver’s side emerges a man in a suit and tie, dark sunglasses on. He stretches. From the passenger side, a woman in office attire, also wearing dark sunglasses, steps out. She walks behind the SUV to greet him, kisses him quickly, then slides into the driver’s seat. The man passes behind the car, retrieves his briefcase from the hatch, closes it with a clean click, and heads into the building as the woman drives away.

Gatineau, QC, April 2025