When I lived in Berryville Virginia, I use to go for long runs from my rented farmhouse down a series of rural lanes that intersected countless cattle and horse pastures, as well as, seasonal crop fields and even a few patches of isolated woods. Eventually, I would end up at the Shenandoah River. Turning either North or South, I would run along its banks for miles. In one particularly remote section of the lane, I would glance at this gap in the two fence lines. Most people would probably never think twice about this gap but my imagination was fired by it. To me it was not a sign of dilapidation in need of maintenance an aging farmer had yet to notice. No, it was an passageway intentionally created by a secret rebel group that transited hidden across the area. I imagined a series of such openings following a barely visible path running along its own subversive concourse. I was sure that if I waited there long enough, I would see a world weary insurgent defiantly trespass its intended restriction. No, it was not merely a hole in the fence line. I was sure of that.