I noticed it last week — a break in the fence, right at the place I used to scale it. An absence, a window, an opening. How long have I waited for this break? Or, at the very least, for a stile across the fence?

At first, I thought I was seeing things, but I when I walked up to investigate, I noticed the discarded planks. Will there be a gate here someday, to preserve the opening, or will it once again be fenced?

Taking no chances, I strode through it, avoiding the longer and more circuitous route to the Franklin Farm meadow that I’ve taken ever since I stopped climbing fences.

It seemed a fortuitous New Year’s omen. An opening. An invitation. I embraced it.