the stone wall

she would

take rocks, large rocks, ones

that she could carry

from the cold stream

beside her home

and carry them

to the fence.

to build a wall where

the wood had rotted,

the wire broken.

she'd lean

over,  feet in the stream,

and dig out

a round stone from the 

river bed.

for weeks, i'd watch her,

from my porch.

we'd wave. we'd nod

and smile,

saying nothing, too far

away. she was old

and getting older

by the day.

by fall she had built

the wall waist high,

that stretched from the road,

to her well

into the thick woods.

she had her wall

to keep things in, to

keep things out.

and soon she passed away.