Limited

Harry is chasing a small bird that leads him from one clump of shrubs to the next. The bird stays on the outside of the shrubs where the threat of the Invisible Fence keeps Harry at a safe distance. Harry always errs on the side of caution; better to stay far short of the fence than risk the warning beep that leaves him frantically searching for familiar ground.

Bess is lying in the middle of the driveway as I ride the required “seven round trips equal a mile” past her. I think each time that I will have to warn her to move in order to pass by. Bess, however, judges the boundaries better than Harry and I do. She’s never afraid to claim as much area as she likes. And now, she’s chosen a spot angled about ten feet behind the truck towards the middle of the driveway. I can ride through easily without disturbing her and put out a hand to touch her at the same time.

I pushed my personal boundaries this week and started drawing lessons this week with an artist friend who commented that I started the way most people begin – with the outside lines. He draws in a way that I don’t even think any more – starting with the fullness of the object, filling a page with dimension and shading and curve and movement without needing to know the edges of the thing itself first.

Boundaries seem to be my issue lately. Once I loved to push outside them. Now, I’m holding myself as close to center as I can. Even as I write, I’m searching for a comfortable closure, trying to find control over threats that are rapidly becoming realities, and avoiding risks that continue to appear without invitation.