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Photo Copyright Erin Leary
Frost Was Wrong
The river used to flow through my meadow. I let my neighbor water his herd there. Then the river channel shifted onto his land. I drove the cattle to the river, like always, but a fence blocked our path to the water. The cattle were thirsty. They lowed and gazed longingly across the fence at the water, not understanding what had happened. I angrily drove the tractor into the rails between two posts and they cracked, splintered and fell to the ground. The cows trotted through the opening and slaked their thirst contentedly. Sometimes, good fences don’t make good neighbors.
bridgesareforburning 