When I walked out to the old log barn
I heard a friendly call
Two little lambs looking for food
Litte orphaned bottle bumpers
They met me as I swung open the door
And stepped into their excited embrace
Which was full of expectation that
I came with two bottles of milk.
Tag: barn
Rain – part V (day 2265)
(part IV)
I felt good beating away my irrational fear
That this hungry stranger was wild man
He did have some unkempt parts about him
But nothing more than your average man.
He said he’d been working on a pig farm
Just inside the Ontario border
For the last four years
A smell I had keenly detected
When I first met him.
He warmed over as he drank the tea
And soon he was calmer
As the dog stopped growling at the stranger
The fire I kept going I’m sure
Also brought up his spirits.
I fed him toasted bread, jam, and eggs
And sent him off to the barn
Before darkness set in.
Rain – part IV (day 2264)
(part III)
I told the hungry stranger
That he could spend the night
In the hay barn, where I pointed
He said he’d hoped as much
As I gave him the eggs
And a warm cup of tea.
He asked if I had a cigarette
But I hadn’t one to my name
“Thought I’d try,” he said
“You don’t look like much of a smoker.”
Living as a bachelor
I kept a pretty clean house
The dog kept me in order
If ever I let things slip too much
My father had made sure that I understood
What it meant to have gravitas
As a man, the responsibility
Of keeping my ethics strong
And my morals rich,
A keen sense of duty to myself
My community, and to do the right thing.
Moon at Midnight – Part XXXXXVI (day 2030)
We stayed for five days
With Amy, Frank and Clarinet
As expected, it was really quite enjoyable
There wasn’t enough room inside their cabin
So we set up in Frank’s barn
With some fresh hay we had helped reap –
Clarinet and Lily shared a bed inside,
I was happy to see them getting along so good
In spite their obvious cultural differences
And, truthfully, hardly able to speak to each other.
We were all thankful to have the horses
For the ride home
Amy forced us to take some of her jerky again
And stuffed our bags full of baked buns
Fresh from her oven
But, it was nice to sleep
Under the stars again
Around a campfire
The night was warm and clear
And we all felt happy,
Warmed by the socializing…
By the friendliness Amy and Frank
Always made sure to shower us with
They were really becoming quite good friends
To think, only three short years ago
I had first walked up to their front porch.
The next day we were up early again
And before we had ridden too far
Moon Cow saw a deer and had an arrow through it’s neck
We camped close by, at a creek
And spent the rest of the day dressing it
To prepare it for the remainder of the ride
It was nice to eat the fresh meat that night
But it surely wasn’t as good as
What Amy had packed us, smoked.
The rest of the trip home went
Without much to excitement
I was happy to see how well Willow was doing
On account of her broken ribs
It still hurt her to do long days on the horse
But she was so skilled on the horse
That she was able to avoid much pain
Still, we kept the next two days of riding
Slow and steady, without pushing too much
And enjoying the wildnerness we explored
Lily, of course, was all eyes everywhere
So excited to be on a journey
But a little melancholic about
Having to return to our village
After become so familiar, spoiled I guess I could say
With Amy and Clarinet’s hospitality.
Knee Jerkin’ Jamboree (day 1942)
This sunshine in my sky so high,
Oh Lordy, sit down and sing me a song today
I’ve got little dancers raising glasses in my heart
And the whole town’s coming down
For a good ol’ knee jerkin’ jamboree!
Have you thought about bees on a Sunday?
Bending fullness of a flower top
Slowly wrinkling it’s cheeks saying: ‘Hi!’
Waving lazily in the afternoon sky
Cause Oh Boy! I’ve sure got some cheer!
You know, I sure know this old barn door,
And today there’s nothing more I could want;
Squeaky hinges and drying wood,
And the smell of it all goin’ back to earth.
What’s happening to my soul? It’s a damn good day.
Fresh Hay (day 1847)
I wandered into an empty barn, and couldn’t figure out why the hay still smelt fresh. My eyes adjusted with a twinkling daylight filtering in through cracks in the wooden walls, dust that may have once been settled was caught suspended in the beams of light and my eyes scanned the well worn floor, distracted by the antique tools laying about as if still in use. How could I know what had come here before? How could, with a flash like a blink, memories flicker through my vision as if my transistor radio had suddenly happened upon a past I knew well?