This
dry wall was designed by a master mason.
He
quarried shist, and cut each stone to the inch,
to
fit together like a jigsaw puzzle,
to make a split in-line sixty foot
bench
–
individual stones like scales on a giant snake –
to grace the lawn between the house and meadow.
The
break between the pair directs the eye’s arc
a
quarter mile down the pasture like an arrow
to
boundary trees and ever changing mountains.
Its
axis bisects our pond in perfect symmetry.
This
wall wasn’t meant to keep things in or out.
Its sun warmed rocks are
homes for frog and snake,
a hunting roost for bluebird,
robin, wren,
while mosses cling to its
shaded northern face.
Alone on the wall, I have
watched bluebirds fledge,
turkey broods cross the
meadow at sunset, deer graze
in early morning fog,
unquiet hawks hunt.
It’s stark, enduring in the
summer sun,
in winter, wind whipped
snow waves gently blunt
its
flanks in ever shifting drifts. This
brace
of open monuments anchor
landscape and people.
Its level line creates
reflective space.
