To some people it’s rubbish but I like things that once mattered, once had a use. A wrecked car, with stones piled onto its bonnet, the home to rabbits who hop back and forth under its chassis. A creel, years since the confine of a lobster, now sewn into the land by grass.
Down at the Brew Loch I found this rusting, sagging fence. When the water was lower it was a boundary that kept sheep in and out. Now, submerged, its tired wires and sodden posts cannot divide or protect any more than a hand can push back the wind.
Yet in its disuse, it has become something else. Its timbers, something for the brown trout to nudge. Its mesh, draped with weeds that dry in the sun before being immersed once more. And on a clear, still day, its being and its reflection slices the loch’s serenity. It is part of the loch now and the loch part of it.
© Shona Main 2010