The wooden fence with chipped white paint
stands askew in the back yard,
it guards the abundant harvest from hidden predators,
hungry for lush produce.
A protective mother wrapping her injured arms lovingly 
around her growing children.
Vines ascend twining around each post,
strangling the barricade.
The fence creaks open
I slip into the secure mothers arms.
The soil near the gate is stamped with rain boot
foot prints dried in chestnut mud.
Broken latched gate, doorway to the riches
The blazing red tomatoes, fresh green beans, earthy herbs,
The carrots entombed under the soil,
their leafy tops dance in light wind.
I want to shrink down to the size of a cucumber,
and hide in the flourished, safe vegetable garden,
within the arms of the mother fence.