I feel a poem coming on;
a need to sneeze - cry.
Write! Yes! Write ...
Remembering the barn at Idlewild Farm; how the barn swallows
left a lot -
leaving their dirty droppings.
I've felt like a barn lately
with friends, family and acquaintances flying away.
Flying high and off with a lot of power. I'm an empty cold barn
in need of roosting barn swallows. Perhaps my tears will
heal the cracking paint.
The sun holds me in its arms;
its rays stroking and comforting.
But for now,
I'm a cold lonely barn. 1