This work of saving us from poisonous perspectives is a long and tedious business. It stretches toward the horizon like a never-ending fence line. 

The patient rancher moves from post to post, checking each for strength and the wire between for sags and breaks. 

In a hurry, I try to climb into the old Ford to bounce across the acres and call the job done. 

Instead my rancher bids me sit, on the tailgate, boot off and pant leg pulled up. He examines a red swelling, mid calf, two puncture marks still oozing. He silently lifts his eyes. It hurts as hell is extracted. 

New vistas now stretch in the distance. But I still see the fence line. It continues. We continue to check it for failings. The pain in my leg is beginning to fade. 

summer storm lasts all day

                                         the pond catches each raindrop—

                                                   expect flooding tonight