Tides of Change – Jenny Stone

Built by the sweat of many men,

Heavy hewn posts raised to the sky,

Rooved by brave men straddling the heights

to fasten the wooden slats.

The pride of the farm,

The barn.

 

The years of plenty filled the barn with fragrant hay,

hay frugally used to feed the ravenous flocks

when barren skies withheld the liquor of life and

crops failed.

 

Successions of families filled with future hope.

Cycles of seasons.

 

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the barn filled less and less.

The precious bales finally spent,

the remnant of straw the only legacy.

Year after relentless year the parched earth failed to release a crop.

 

The barn lay idle.

Shafts of light shone through the broken slats.

No one left to notice as wind and heat loosened even te biggest stays.

No one heard them fall.

The posts, once hewn by axe with texture smooth to touch,

now weathered, rough and splintered, split,

point skyward like totems of some ancient mystic cult.