The old barn


The old barn was empty now. The mules, plows and farming implements were long gone. But the feeble, old man sometimes enjoyed climbing up the well-worn steps into the loft and falling asleep on the warm, dry, peanut hay. The old man and the barn seemed to have so much in common because they were both now without purpose. His children were adults and had moved up North because they couldn’t make a living farming like their daddy had once done when they were children. And sadly, his devoted wife had died from breast cancer the past year. The old man and the fading, red barn were all alone now, only remembered relics from the past. On the soft, warm, hay, memories from the past came flooding back into his head which was now completely covered in white thinning hair. In his heart, he was aware that noth-ing stays the same and time rushes on like a mighty river. But in the loft of the barn, he dreamed he could still hear the gentle raindrops on the old homeplace tin roof, and he could still feel the love that he felt for his family that was timeless and eternal. Nothing could ever take that away. He noticed the slim spears of light coming through the ceiling of the old barn, and he thought about the times that his cupboard was bare, but God always made a way. God seemed to honor his needs, and the old man learned that he could do without his wants. He sensed the world was more willing to love thy neighbor and to live morally, honoring the ten commandments, than the lifestyle of greed and selfishness that is practiced today. The old man ambled back home on his walking cane. His house cat met him, brushing against his fad-ed overalls affectionately.