Lion in wait

He's been at his station for decades.

When he first arrived (the welds on the wrought iron newly bonded, the black paint fresh and glossy, not a speck of rust to appear for years and years) he looked over and across a dirt road. He would hear the footsteps of visitors, or the clop clop of their horse's hooves before he could see them, and would greet them with a stately gaze as they approached his gate.

Eventually the street was paved, and there was even a trolley line that passed by for a time. The family didn't pass through as often since they now used the door off of the new driveway more often that not. The leisurely sound of footsteps, and horse hooves were replaced with the dopplered sounds of engines and tires passing by.

As the gate sat through the cycle of the seasons, the years, decades, the paint peeled and the rust grew. Most of the fence is long gone, all that's left is the gate itself and a little section to the left and right. The hinges protest on Wednesday nights and Thursday mornings, now the only time they are used as full trash cans are dragged out in the night and carried back through empty the next morning. Still, the lion remains, his stately gaze looking straight ahead.

Noticed

Thursday, February 20, 2025