The Barn by J. A. Titus (2001)
As the sun still shines and the clouds billow softly in the sky, I find myself venturing to the far side of the plantation where our old barn still stands. Though the building is decades old, with its paint peeling along the edge and the faded red color blistering in the heat, I can only sit on the hill in front of it and struggle not to face the memories I have once shared in its presence.
I look back to the house where my wife is hanging laundry out to dry, and shudder in relief that I am truly not alone. I turn back to the barn and stare at it and think.
As I watch it seems to age. The paint becomes increasingly more dull, far different from when I first painted it with a red color so vibrant it could be seen for miles. Even the tar paper roof seems to sag and it some spaces the sunlight filters through the open holes. The barn doors, barely attached to their hinges, hang defenselessly in the wind and pound like a mightly clap of thunder against the door frame. The noise echoes through the vast land and bounces along the grass to my ears. I can only imagine what the poor barn is feeling, and wonder why I haven't kept the place up.
Then I realize why, it was all in a matter of time before he had gone and never was able to return. How I miss him. Only my thoughts could ease my inner struggle with this deep depression I feel today and have felt before.
I can hear the faint calls from my wife, pulling me back into reality. I push myself up and limp sad and alone back home only to return to this seating place at a later time.
As I watch it seems to age. The paint becomes increasingly more dull, far different from when I first painted it with a red color so vibrant it could be seen for miles. Even the tar paper roof seems to sag and it some spaces the sunlight filters through the open holes. The barn doors, barely attached to their hinges, hang defenselessly in the wind and pound like a mightly clap of thunder against the door frame. The noise echoes through the vast land and bounces along the grass to my ears. I can only imagine what the poor barn is feeling, and wonder why I haven't kept the place up.
Then I realize why, it was all in a matter of time before he had gone and never was able to return. How I miss him. Only my thoughts could ease my inner struggle with this deep depression I feel today and have felt before.
I can hear the faint calls from my wife, pulling me back into reality. I push myself up and limp sad and alone back home only to return to this seating place at a later time.
