THE OLD WISE BARN

If walls could speak
This old barn would say
Cheer up my friend
God knows the way…

For love to brim
And flow through your heart
From this day forward
You simply will start…

To see the beauty
That is all around
The smiles, the laughter
The blessings are found…

In seeing the best
In the people you love
Steadfast and consistent
God knows from above…

The path that’s before you
He knows what is best
Trust in His wisdom
It will bring needed rest.

I published this poem on my first blog, back on April 22, 2010.  I was going through a particularly rough time of life, living in the wilderness and grappling with the reality of Aspergers in my family.  I was exploring what I could do with words and after spending a few hours at a deserted barn, and truly beautiful setting (take a look at the post in full), I penned the following.  Even reading it today, it paints a nice picture still of the serenity of the moment with the birds at the pond.

From my journal…

“Yesterday I went out to the old barn on Butternut corner and snooped around. It was peaceful and just a gorgeous day. The sky was brilliant blue with glowing white clouds, bursting like popcorn in the vast sky. The birds sang their songs, all voices joining into a melodious choir, while the bees buzzed their percussion accompaniment as they danced from tiny flower to tiny flower. The ducks and one lone goose began the symphony with a flurry of noise, mingled with an odd sounding squeak at each flap of their wings, sounding like a soggy wet tennis shoe on a polished gymnasium wood floor. They fluttered through the sky, sending their scolding voices, darting one way, then circling back in the opposite direction, seemingly confused by the presence of the new intruder at their pond. The lone goose stayed longer in the weeds, carefully watching each step as the human came around the cow-path, narrowing the gap that offered safety to the lingering bird. With a frenzy of legs and wings, he ran across the water before lifting lightly into the sky, adding his own rusty hinge sound to the orchestra of nature.”