The One and Only Ivan

the top of the hill

I’ve explored every nook and cranny of this place, except for a hill at the far end where workers have been repairing a wall.

They’re finally gone. They’ve left behind fresh white brick and a mound of black dirt.

While the others laze in the morning sun, I want to explore the hilltop. They’ve been there before, and I have not. Everything is still fresh to my eyes.

I take my time going uphill, savoring the feel of grass on my knuckles. The breeze carries the shouts of children and the drowsy hum of bumblebees. Near the top of the hill is a low-limbed tree, the kind my sister would have loved.

The wall is endless, clean and white, stretching far down to the habitats beyond my own. It’s high and wide, carefully built to keep us in and others out.

This is, after all, still a cage.

It rained last night, and the pile of dirt is soft to the touch. I scoop up a handful and breathe in the loamy smell.

It’s a rich brown color, heavy and cool in my palm.

And the wall waits, like an endless blank billboard.