This was somewhere outside of Kent. Guided by our own senses and equally erratic decisions, we’d course remote gravel stretches finding dusty intersections. Misfortune marked for the left, disadvantage aimed for the right. Just further ahead, maybe. Wait, what’s that out there? You see that? No roads or paths leading that way. What about that fence line? Easy passage if we unwrap it, set it free. Single strand, rusted barbed wire, simple enough.