Boundaries

I hammered the last white stake of my picket fence into the plush grass.

“What if we inched it back a bit?” She asked with a cheeky grin.

I looked at the line of stakes encircling me; a safeguard for personal space. I was not surprised that she would ask to bend the wooden planks back to fit her needs. I was always bending and breaking for those in need. What of my needs? Was there no one to stand firm to protect my earthly bounds? If no one would stand at the helm and protect my grounds, I suppose I would have to do it myself.

Another stake slammed into the ground between her and me, “Perhaps, you should inch back a bit from me,” I replied, holding a stare.

It was clear; her desire to encroach on my protected space. She wanted to rip the grass from its roots, tear the roses from their beds, and dig holes into my land. She wanted to use my land to build her garden. I would not let her trample over my sacred soil any longer.

“Better yet, perhaps it would be best if you walk off my property all together.” I stated, calm and clear.

A voice so even, even I feared. So, she retreated. And for some odd reason, I didn’t miss her presence. I worried I would miss her pacing around the border of my garden, miss her scrutinizing the craftsmanship of my fence, miss her nudging the stakes ever so slightly. But I didn’t. I didn’t miss her at all.

Illustration by @shop.sopita