I passed this grey oldtimer on the outskirts of Gardner, Kansas back in March and it called to me through the car window. There's something familiar about that worn gravel path up to its door. Seeing these old barns always makes me nostalgic and a bit sad, but I am always hopeful that they will be revived or that new wood barns will spring up to lovingly take their place among them.
O'erbrims the mows beyond the time-warped eaves,
Though few flies wander his secluded way.
In the dry hush some rustlings light are heard,
Of winter-hidden mice at furtive play.
Far down, the cattle in their shadowed stalls,
Nose-deep in clover fodder's meadowy scent,
The frost that bites the world beyond their walls.
Warm housed, they dream of summer, well content
In day-long contemplation of their dreams.