The Old Barn ...

I love old barns. They have such a story to tell. You can see the hard work they did all those years ago in all of its brokeness ... The wood is like old bones falling apart at the joints. This one speaks of the chickens that were raised in it. The ghosts of the farmers still walk the stairs. I want to talk w/them. I want to shuffle my feet among the chicks and hear their peeping. A friend of mine worked in a chicken barn her family owned. She spoke of the early mornings rising before school to clean, feed and water the chickens. She saw her maman snap the necks of some of the chickens who were diseased and who said to her little girl in a nonchalant sort of way with that very strong French accent, "They will kill the other chickens if we don't do this." Then she moved on ... and so did the child. The barn ... it sits, alone - in a field that is vast. It has so much to say - so much to share. It has given so much to so many ... now it is abandoned - left to rot - to fall - all alone. In my mind I say, "Thank you."

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