Headstall's Reflections - 91. Chapter 91 The Barn Across the Road

Chapter 91: The Barn Across the Road

It was a packed dirt road back then

Slick muck in March and buoyant dust in August

Ten well-leapt steps from deep ditch to deep ditch

leading to a fantastical childhood place of discovery

A discernible path was worn, whether summer or winter,

back when I could wriggle under barbed wire

or climb over when crusted snow layered high,

to get to the little wood door fit into the bigger door

The mow’s dim interior held spirits and ghosts

of cows and pigs and people alike,

but they were my friends, my consolers,

swimming through dust motes between sunlit slats

It was where I felt protected, where I could breathe

I’d burrow into stored straw, book in hand, and dream

of horses and birds and flying and… safe places

It was always hard for me to feel safe, but here I could

That mow was not only mine, not always, but I made it so

through careful planning and sneaky timing

because a craving for solitude was ingrained in me,

mostly a way to avoid unsolicited, unwanted attention

My mind always careened, but here I could keep up

and imagine a different world, a saner world,

one of beauty, quiet, kindness and creativity

Yes, creativity, that emerging desire to form and forge

Other desires came forth in that hallowed space

It was big enough to hold so many things… questions

and fears a young boy/man clutched tightly to his chest

as he tried to figure out who he was as a human

But, back to beauty… that barn, my uncle’s barn

was more exquisite that any church I’d been forced into

And the only worship felt was for its construction

with hand-hewn beams way thicker than my young waist

Beauty was everywhere, in sun patterns on the floor

and the wooden ladders to the skies, and to other worlds

of my freed and fertile imagination, unbound by the courage

I could assuredly find in this magical castle of mine

Relegated to storage by a newer one close to the house,

this century barn came to bendable life in a storm,

the wind making it sing, a cacophony of creaks and squeals

But it stood firm, always, and I imagined I absorbed its strength

I certainly didn’t find all the answers I needed, but that’s okay

For it was my haven then, and is a comfort to my mind’s travels now

I’m sure if I were to visit, I would find my buried stack of books,

and the carved faces I scratched to life with an old horseshoe nail

And still it stands, this stalwart pillar in a confusing, scary time,

now in the respectful, rehabilitating care of my older cousin

My barn isn’t nearly as old, but proved a playground for my children

and I hope each found the kind of joy I did in the barn across the road

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