Perched

Maybe you are aware already of my inclination towards sitting on a fence.
(I would rather the analogy was less pefect and it were a stronger image, but to what castle or ditch or cottage, even, would I be better suited?)
And that when I move off that fence, how I flounder in doubt towards some supposed destination. I usually very quickly grasp at the fence again.
I can run back any time as it runs along, always more or less within a stride from me.

It’s not a comfortable seat. There’s no throne in it to settle into or brush lining it thick enough to lie in, or even rocking chair.
From it I can see and consider all sides, and when done with that I just scratch some words or a symbol or two on to it. Or humming some tune, view the moon or sunset – same as kings, hobos or workers, say.

Some call from either side and sometimes I’ll afford a visit (to castle, ditch or cottage, say). I can enjoy that very much but I won’t stay – or desire to for very long.
I won’t wander far either – say ditch to ditch or castle to cottage to castle or combination, as some might travel about.
I’ll just budge up a bit or move back down some…

And I’ll always welcome anyone to sit by me for as long as they wish. I realise it’s not comfortable. I can be convinced of this and take off in some direction or other, holding a friend’s hand, but it doesn’t take long for me to lose my footing.

“Let’s go back to the fence“, I’ll say.
I’ll tell them it’s what I need. They may feel that a castle or cottage, say, could be good for me.
I can’t be convinced.

They know where to find me.

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