The barbed wire fence separated them and though Alex was more firmly present Donkey was a keen observer of details and saw the signs of a broken heart.
"See those lambs?" Donkey's formidable head kinked and his lips spread wide revealing his equally large and yellow teeth. "They can't get enough of this day, loving every second of it. Racing to get from that side to whatever is entertaining." Donkey's narrative popped the trance of walking into his personal labyrinth. Alex raised his head to see the blur of lambs. Their elders were busy with the business of eating, but not so the babies. The lambs were in love with the day and the feeling was catchy.
"They really are something," Alex agreed. It was hard to remain glum in the presence of such zest. The rain had not let up, but the sogginess fed the laughter in both man and beast as the lamb races kept up. Finally, Alex remembered the manila envelope. "Geez," He padded himself down reaching for the inside of his shirt. "How do I get into this field and over to that contraption?" Necessity was once again fuel for appeal. The thought of Camilia's soft warm flesh and graceful walk was doing a pumpkin-into-stage-coach thing to the worn old cart. Alex wasn't sure that would be enough to transform the wheel barrow and yet here he was chewing the fat with Donkey.
"There are notches at the corner post, tucked into my side of the post. Lift up on the latch cover, after you return this key to me." Donkey tilted his head to allow Alex at a simple chain. "A neck-piece," Donkey was one of the readers, sensitive to the way words were used. He corrected Alex's thinking that his was a necklace and waited for the man to retrieve the small but heavy metal key dangling from around his neck. There were three keys on the neck-piece, and all of them were etched with an Animal's likeness. One, a long billed bird. "Heron" filled in Donkey. Then, a furry four-legged creature. "Sheep. They're my responsibility, I keep track of this gate when I'm in the field, for that purpose." Third, a fish. "That will be Salmon," Donkey's lips were twitching, "It's not a well-worn truth, but a truth none the less. We Donkey love to eat salmon. But that's a story for a whole 'nother time. It's the Sheep key you want in that small lock."
The low clank of the metal keys chiming against each other sent a small but keen electricity through the old man's hands. With the Sheep key in place the key turned itself and the fence post a pale but definite shade of blue. Alex heard a voice as familiar as butter melting on toast. "Blue ... it's the old color of love." If he could hear her, there was hope. Wasn't there. Such simple conclusions.
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