Read by Matilda Longbottom

TThe garden stood fortified, a sanctuary devoid of birds, squirrels, or deer. Horse panels formed a robust structure, reinforced by massive corner posts, while gopher wire ascended from moats to meet bird netting draped over the entire enclosure. It was dubbed “Frankenstein’s Garden.” Successful for years, it succumbed when wet snows arrived, bending aluminum poles, tearing netting, and allowing the unexpected intruder—frozen water—to breach the defenses.

As the netting gave way, nature reclaimed its place. Birds, once barred, brought songs and excitement back. Despite occasional entanglements, the garden felt alive. Then came the day when an imposing visitor appeared—golden brown, with fierce eyes and a hooked beak: a hawk.

Armed with a feed sack, I approached cautiously. Wrapping it gently around the majestic creature, I unraveled the netting from its talons. The hawk’s release was a moment of unexpected magic – one second cradling a Harris’ Hawk, the next, an empty feed sack as it soared freely into the open sky.

Turning back to the garden, the fortress seemed absurd. The dismantling of the netting revealed a newfound brightness and freedom, as air and light flooded the space. The Frankenstein structure, once imprisoning both flora and fauna, now lay on the ground. Though I might never hold a hawk again, the bird, the garden and I were all finally free.

In tearing down the barriers, I discovered the true essence of nature – not confined, but thriving in boundless freedom. ❖