White Picket Fence

      I see a white picket fence. There is a gate at its midpoint and, beside it, a mailbox standing just behind the fence. Shadows of people intermittently walk by, none of them noticing the fence or mailbox. Occasionally the shadow of a mailman will put papers into the box, but it is usually junk mail. There is the shadow of one man in particular who walks by this fence quite often. This man loves to take strolls now—he used to enjoy the busy, workaholic life. One day he had to walk home from work because his car was in the shop. He was angry, annoyed, and in a hurry. He passed this fence that day, and was overcome by a profound sense of calmness. Since then, he walks by the white picket fence daily, several times a day when possible. Today he notices something new. Ivy is wrapping around the pole of the mailbox and beginning to reach for the nearest fence post. When this shadow of a man passes by later that day, the ivy has wrapped itself over the entire mailbox, creating a snug blanket and sealing it shut. The red flag is down and completely hidden. He stares for a moment, fascinated, but is reminded he has to get home soon. The next time he goes by, the ivy has crept along several of the fence posts, wrapping around them like ribbon. Sunflowers sprout behind the fence. The nameless, faceless man stops and stares, stunned by the peace he found from this image. He forgets for a moment that he is on his way to work, a dreaded, stressful job. He thinks a moment, silently debating. Then, he opens the fate—which was free of ivy—and walks through. The sunflowers have grown into a dense forest of tall flowers. He wanders into it, feeling free at last. He loses himself in this place—no knowing which direction is which—but does not feel lost or confused. Joy. Only joy. He lays down and soaks in the warmth of the sun’s rays and rests, truly rests, for the first time in ages.