The barn is a wondrous place, a safe haven for some. As I walk past the sturdy structure, the scent of old wood, dust, and something that I am unable to identify, peaks my senses. My mother would say it is only horse manure or something of the sort, but no, it is something more. Perhaps, it's the scent of days gone by mixed with sweet memories. Peering upward, my vision is drawn towards the hayloft; patchy boards, hay, and decades of dust are the permanent residents. Old furniture, a pile of lumber, and fowl can also be found in that location. My brother's collection of lawnmowers and tools are down below, as well as saddles and an old work table. Horse stalls are the current shelter for four swine. The scent of sweet oats and hay waifs through this section of the double red barn as kittens scatter through cracks. The barn is also the home of an old club house from summers past. Remnants of small tables, chairs, and the like sit idle, waiting to be reclaimed by another generation. Time will tell if the tin roof held up by beams and pegs will survive for many more years or not.
Note: This isn't a picture of our actual barn.