The Heron's Nest

Editors' Choices

The Heron's Nest Award

The opening line, "gated woods", is so effective that it stopped me in my tracks, holding me in place before I could move on to the rest of the poem. Gated, indeed! A number of interpretations flickered through my mind. I thought first of state parks and arboretums I've visited, where fences and gates attempt to manage deer populations while admitting human visitors—literal gated woods. Then my thoughts shifted to cemeteries, with their ornate wrought-iron gates standing between worlds, dividing the living from the dead. The question of why the woods are gated is what really intrigues me. Is the goal to keep something contained or is it meant to keep others out?

In a literal sense, this paradox of gating something as wild as a woods, seems to point to the futility of human effort. Acorns will inevitably fall on both sides of a fence. Maple keys will helicopter far beyond any boundary, taking root wherever the soil welcomes them. Trees themselves grow skyward, indifferent to human constructions. A gated woods feels like a deeply human concept, an attempt to impose order on something inherently wild. And yet, there's a kind of hope in the act of gating—a belief that boundaries can offer protection and purpose, even in the face of nature's indifference.

The metaphor of the gate, of course, swings both ways. A gate allows entry or exit depending on the circumstances. It offers the opportunity for connection while also creating separation. Readers will bring their own associations to the image, shaped by personal experiences of inclusion and exclusion. Some may see the gate as a welcoming threshold, while others may see it as a barrier, a reminder of what lies out of reach.

John Stevenson, in his June 2023 Heron's Nest Editors' Choices essay, described a concept he calls "orbit words"—words that do not appear in a poem but are summoned into the reader's mind by its imagery and themes. In this poem, the word "gated" evokes the orbit word "community." Perhaps the gated woods represent a literal neighborhood such as a gated community of homes, or perhaps it symbolizes a community of trees, birds, and other woodland life within a larger community with either or both of them gated. The mention of "us" in the poem complicates this further. Is one person inside the community while the other remains outside? Or are both on the same side of the gate, separated only by an emotional distance? Sometimes the gates we can't see are the hardest to open.

The silence mentioned in the second line offers another duel for meaning. Silence in a woods is often cherished—a respite from the noise of modern life. It invites introspection and peace. Yet silence between people can feel heavy, even painful. As silence grows, it can widen the gap between individuals and their relationship. The phrase "grows into winter" carries a chill. Winter suggests a season of dormancy, a time when growth generally slows or ceases altogether. In the context of relationships, it might symbolize a period of withdrawal and isolation.

For those of us who live in colder climates, the imagery of winter resonates deeply. In Wisconsin, where I live, winter often means months of not seeing neighbors, of retreating indoors, of solitude becoming the norm. When spring arrives, we emerge to tend our gardens and share greetings across backyard fences. But during winter, the silence between us can feel unending.

The final line, "grows into winter," carries not only chill, but also weight. Winter often symbolizes the later stages of life, a time when mobility wanes, social circles shrink, and one turns inwards. The metaphor of the gate returns here, suggesting a transition from one phase of life to another. The gate may be closing behind us as we leave youth and vitality behind, moving into a quieter, more introspective season.

Ultimately, this poem captures the tension between connection and isolation, between the natural world's boundless energy and the human desire to protect and control it. It invites readers to ponder their own associations with gates, woods, silence, and winter. The imagery opens doors—gates, if you will—to personal reflections on boundaries and relationships, aging and transitions.

Julie Schwerin
March 2025