There’s a stone wall at the edge of the field near Crail, built long ago without mortar, each rock resting on the next as if they’d agreed to hold together. In the middle, a narrow gate — just wide enough for one person at a time.
When I walk that way, I stop. It isn’t a grand entrance. No arch, no carving. Only a modest passage from one field to another. And yet, stepping through feels a little like ceremony.
We picture thresholds as dramatic: a move across the country, a new job, a plane lifting off. But the real ones are often smaller. A kind word at the right moment. A shift in self-perception. The quiet thought: I could live here.
The wall reminds me — not all gates announce themselves. Some look like gaps in the ordinary. You recognize the crossing only after you’ve gone through.
So I try to notice the smaller gates. They’re everywhere. And they don’t ask for luggage. Only attention.
Ellen Barone is an American writer and wanderer. After 15 years as an independent content creator for travel and tourism, she has been enjoying extended stays abroad for the past decade, the inspiration behind her travel memoir, "I Could Live Here" (November 2023)