Rusty Nail - Prose

Walking in the Steens
Crisp air, autumn hues
You might have been there

If Currier and Ives made Autumn cards
Like they make Christmas cards
This is one we would see
Each October

There was the deepest blue mountain sky
There were the aspen trees
In almost gaudy array
A foot-freezing stream
The smell of sage
Mountains in the distance with the faintest dusting
Of new snow

I turned up my collar against the
Breath of the morning
As my own breath
Hung lighhtly in the air

I had been walking along
An ancient fence line
And came to a place
Where I could see
In the distance
The fence turn hard
To the North

There was a stand of aspens
Seemingly gazing at the corner of the fence
As if it were something worthy of discussion

They were right
As aspens usually are
And they told me the things they saw

The fence had once been built
By a careful man
Who had placed each post plumb
At approximately the same height
In a straight line
At the correct depth
To save it from winter's blast

The fence was there
To keep some things out
And some things in
And the owner of the gate
Had passed

The pasture itself was now
Overgrown
But even in its old age
I could tell
It was once a beautiful partnership
Between this man and Creation

I could imagine
The horses and stock
That represented
The earthly concerns of this man
On his earthly journey;
Food, mobility, safety
All enclosed within this fence
In this crystalline mountain pasture

But the aspens laughed
As aspens usually do
And begged a closer look

(Of course I complied)

At the west end of the fence
Where it turned to the north
There was a gate
On rusty hinges
Held by a rusty lock
Nearby, on the largest aspen
A silver key hung on an old nail

The rust on the lock
Had built up by molecules
Over generations now
At first the lock had been sticky
Then hard to open
Now frozen
Not useful except to say
"I once was..."
Or maybe, "Be careful..."

For beyond the fence
Beyond the gate
Among those laughing aspens
There stands a pasture

A pasture that once was
A pasture that held promise
A pasture that was beloved
A pasture that is now forgotten
A pasture that is now abandoned
A pasture that is now alone
A pasture that can only be observed
From outside the gate
The gate with the rusty lock

Maybe one day a man will come
Who will need the pasture again
He will remove the rusty lock
And the old nail
And the unreconciled key

Maybe that man will open the gate
And the pasture will welcome him
And tell him, above the suggestions
Of the aspens
What is needed to make it
Useful to the man

Walking away on that misty morning
The aspens called out
As aspens usually do, saying,

It is not too late
Never too late
To find a way
To open the gate.

--Eric Marley
October 2010