fence line

by underswansea


Spent plenty of time walking above the lake. It is always new to me. You never know what you will see. Eagles on the wind or Ospreys fishing.

Whenever I’ve gone on a trip I’ve always felt like a tourist. Seeing the things they wanted me to see.

To walk the same trail and become familiar with the seasons and what is revealed is rewarding. Plenty of secrets that take a lifetime to be acknowledged.


It was the fence line that took me back. I was a youngster, about seven or eight. I was in trouble at home. I walked the tracks beside the Lake. Watching birds. Time slipping by, before long, I was aways from home.


I knew enough to stay away from moving trains and the rail workers. The workers came from across Canada on work trains. The work trains stayed for a short time and then they were gone. Shortly after another would arrive. Back then the trains had a caboose. We would wave to the worker with the red lantern.

The railcar stopped even though I was hid in the bush.

The man got off. I was spotted. I ran up the bank. He was on my heals. I could hear him breathing and I was getting tired. The fence was before me. I’d be caught.

I made myself skinny and jumped through one of the wire squares. It took most of my strength. I imagined a fish jumping rapids. I kept going. He stopped at the fence, out of wind. The squares were too small for him.


Now I have clubs for fists. I’m vigilant. I look for friends in the wind and along the trail with four legs down.