The Keeper of the Hill Garden

The garden had seven gates, though only two led anywhere beyond it. The others separated the orchard from the herbs, the herbs from the long grass, and the long grass from a small pond where no fish had been kept for years.

Every evening Oren walked the hill and closed them. The lower gate lifted slightly on its hinges and required both hands. The gate near the pears closed with one finger. He knew each by its sound.

At the pond he waited while a circle in the water widened and disappeared. He checked the latch twice, not because it needed checking, but because the second touch was part of the walk.

The last gate stood above the orchard. From there, the village roofs fitted easily beneath the branches. Oren closed it, rested his palm on the cool wood, and listened as the wind tried each of the seven latches in turn.