A gate with nothing either side of it. I suppose there would have been a fence here once, possibly a hedge. There’s no sign of it. Whatever was here must have been taken away a long time ago. But why did they leave the gate? Oddly, the gate itself looks reasonably new, and is in much better shape than many of the gates I negotiate on my walks.
There’s something very striking about this lonely, pointless gate in the middle of field – and it is a huge field. It feels like a remnant from another time, a different civilisation, one where there were things called boundaries; fences formed dividing lines, so people knew where they were; nobody strayed; access was only allowed through gates.
I walked around the gate a few times, taking it in. It was tempting to open the gate and walk through it, because it can’t have been used for years, just to see what might happen. It felt like it wanted to be a metaphor for something.
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