Practicing to Walk Like a Heron

The Hidden Permutations of Sorrow

122 The Hidden Permutations of Sorrow He thought he would build a fence. Not to keep anything out or in. He’d make it of stones and branches piled in the woods out back. He’d weave the branches. He’d balance the stones, make the fence a mixed reminder, two textures, one holding him to the ground, one taking him into what is above. He would sit by the window and watch her walk along it, touching the wood and stone. She would stop to notice how he had finely fit each rock and branch, the wind able to move through each open place. A sparrow would come, perch long enough to open a seed. Squirrels would run along the ridge. He thought he would plant English ivy, burning bush, and wedding veil, hoping to see them climb, spread, entangle, bring out the unnamable hues of green, see them catch the light and glisten in the rain. He would bring in firewood, get a dog. He would make the coffee. ...