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THE BARN ~ 05.13.24

Updated: May 18

from the field notes: a late day journal entry:

At night "my father always went to the barn and checked the livestock before bed. The barn, late at night, in the cold of winter, is the most peaceful place in all the world" (Kathy Richter Shuler)

The photo above is of my mother driving the tractor on my grandmothers farm while she was pregnant with me.

This words below are a tribute to my father and the barn on the farm where he grew up . . .

recycled words

red barns and tin tractors

marshmallow clouds floating in unison

meander across halloween skies

beside the barn

up at the house

bales of stories from a proud porch

painted with memories

it's a new solstice now

chasing autumn

in a slow parade

of color and rusty breezes

then gone in surrender to a slow freeze

bald, hard, cold cracking branches

scratching and scripting harsh words of winter

into tomorrow's dialogue

out there from a northern distance

tomorrow's city lit skies

will let slip

a slow parade of white

sympathetic skies spread

a snow painted blanket

bleached of color

softening and soothing earths rough grit

and there beyond the cold

beyond snowy steps

in the heat of each other's arms

another surrender

this time

to studio lit indigo love

drenched with the light

of a blue neon moon


in the house beside the barn

slipping into sleep we wait

we wait for our after-dream morning

we wait to find out

if what we wanted was to make art

or if what we really wanted

was to be art


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