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.