A Barn (in love)

Running down the sloping red velour hills, I discover a barn peeking slightly from below the rutted, muddy track. My curiosity drew me closer and aided my swift leap over the hickory hand-strewn fencing. Entering the barn, the aroma of clean hay and freshly cut grass fills my nostrils, heightening my senses. I am overcome with nostalgia, simple childhood memories of jumping in autumn leaves now flooding my mind. Instinctively, I cannot resist the overwhelmingly desire to take a running start and leap into the mounds of hay piled on the wooden beam floor. Laughing fervently, I thrust my arms deep into the pile of straw, doing a mock breast-stroke, performing ardently for no one in particular. Desire fulfilled, tired from “swimming” in the hay, I rest on my back, hands interlaced behind my head. Looking up at the ceiling, it spreads everywhere, mahogany brown and timeless. Beams supporting the roof were slanting and cracked, still, undoubtedly bracing the ceiling with the same fortitude it did when first built. I picture the men building the barn, their brows furrowed with sweat, sleeves rolled; working vigorously until they ached. My eyes sweep down to the loft compartments on the upper level of the barn. Oh the games of hide and seek that could have been played here! What I would have given to have grown up in a place like this…Still smiling, I close my eyes and dream.

"I'll make you smile for the simple fact I'm good at it. I'll make you smile just so I can sit and look at it."

-Atmosphere

A Barn (mourning)

Cold and exhausted, I came across a barn, which at one point had been red, but now timeworn and fatigued, had taken on a color not unlike a species of desiccated autumn leaves. The landscape was barren and unkempt, made entirely of an open field of dead shrubs, expanding in infinite directions. A sleepy willow tree oversaw the barn and surrounding field; long, cracked branches twisting and reaching inconsolably across the grey sky. Atop the barn sat a rooster shaped compass, the wind batting it east and west, never disclosing. I pulled my coat up to shield my face from the unrelenting wind and decided to take refuge in the barn. With a relatively forceful tug, the immense door opens and lets out an eternal groan, trying to dissuade me from entering and disturbing the barn's slumber. I step inside and stomp my boots on the ground. The air hangs damp and smells of earth, musky and penetrating. Exhaling deeply, I could see my breath billowing in front of me, lingering until it slowly evaporated into nothing. The inside of the barn had two levels, the upper a loft, and the lower made up of nine pairs of stanchions that faced each other. Now empty, a space once living and breathing with livestock and farm-hands was fallow, fruitless and seemed to be abandoned without warning. In the corner of the first stall sat a bucket of cornmeal, slowly transforming into dry-rot. The vigor of this barn was gone, stripped away. Smells of hickory and fresh, clean straw were replaced with sodden decay. This barn was loneliness, nothing.