The Boundary String

Nora arrived at the community garden before sunrise to divide its forty plots for the new season. By seven, every stake was straight, every string pulled tight, and twelve gardeners waited outside the gate with seedlings in their arms. Then Mr. Vale pointed at the center path. “Where do we walk?” Nora looked again. The measurements were correct, but the plots now met edge to edge. The path had vanished. She reached for the site plan. Someone had replaced it with a petition bearing all twelve gardeners' names, including hers.