Winter

The fence is made of small hands. Fingers wrap around each other like thorns to the edge of the cliff, to the side of a cloud. The nails dig in and tear at the roots of trees. They gnaw at the sides of the cliff as they perch high above the pacific.
Inside, the family hides from what is outside the hands. Worn cedar planks fight off the wind and rain. The family is afraid of anything and everything. As the sun sets the family take time
to sit at the kitchen table. The father extends his hands to his wife and little one creating a circle around the table. The wind is calming down and the ocean rests. Today what is not understood is in another far off land.