Fence between The Kirk and The Rooms

Harvey Road, St. John's, NL

Every morning upon awakening, Mr. Lister would shudder at the thought of the task awaiting his attention in the back yard. Burdened with undesireable responsibility, he sulked in his morning shower, rolled his eyes at his dilatory reflection in the mirrored medicine cabinet, and wrung his hands as he puttered down the hall towards the kitchen. He purposely left his faded yellow curtains drawn so that he was not immediately reminded. But his intentions were futile: the neglected task was all but screaming into his hairy ears because he could think of nothing else.

"Paint me! Paint me!! PAINT ME!!!"

When he had acquired his modest but cozy bungalow a few years back, he thought nothing of the abandoned steel fence that spanned the width of his property, tenaciously retaining its bordering function, as archaic and rusted as his own spirit. He decided that the interior of the house provided sufficient coverage from the ravaging Newfoundland climate... a place to watch television, a place to assemble a sandwich, a place to lay his head... it had everything he needed! He had no intentions of ever penetrating the backyard anyway.

But over time, its posture became more evident. He began to see those ruddy posts waving at him, taunting him like every other task he chose to ignore since he retired four years ago. He had become a crabby, lonely replica of the man he used to be, and with nobody in his life to keep him in check, he just accepted whatever mood befell him on any given day.

But then, his self-depreciating attention was kidnapped by the stunningly sweet lady who moved into the old Marsden place next door. He didn't think anyone would ever move in there, much less a witty, capable widow with a zest for life and a flare for landscaping. She introduced herself as Arianna as she deftly trimmed away the overgrown yews that divided her property with his. He would step out onto his porch for his newspaper and find himself lingering in anticipation of a wave or a greeting. His quick darts into the dewy mornings became longer and longer such that he would actually engage her in conversation. Over time, his eyebrows began to lift and the little crook that had been wedged between his eyes had all but disappeared.

He decided that he wanted to brighten up his home and brought in some of the daisies that were growing along his yard, persisting every summer in spite of his grumbling and ignorance. Finally, he wanted to enjoy their abundance and share in their cheerfulness. He was preparing to invite Arianna over for a coffee. He surveyed his humble kitchen and decided that it was acceptable, especially with the happy bunch of flowers perched in a vase in the middle of the table. 

And so it came that on one particularly sunny morning, he unwittingly threw open his kitchen curtains and he saw that which he had been avoiding so feverishly. But it didn't stir up disdain, it created a feeling that had been hibernating for so long that it almost jolted him with its intensity: he felt motivation! He no longer wanted to avoid the onerous task, he wanted to tackle the job and feel satisfaction. And he wanted to see a bold red fence waving at him from his backyard upon awakening every single morning, as quirky and charismatic as his new appreciation for his address... and for life. And so he knew just what he had to do: Paint it.