The Perfect Mix
The small barn is no longer used.
Up close, you can see the paint peeling
and the cracked panes of glass.
But here, from a distance,
in the snow, surrounded by silence
it is a perfect mix of memories.
About this poem.
I have a particular love of old barns, and there are many near my home. They bring back memories of my grandfather’s barn, hay in the loft, corn stored for feed on the main floor, and pigs wandering in and out of the lean-to shed. Even at a distance, I see a barn and all those sights and sounds and smells rise. A perfect mix of memories.
This one is in Durkeetown, NY. My friends at Durkeetown Baptist will recognize it.
Tom
Quarry House 
How far we have come from your memories of your grandfather’s barn.
I know those were hard days, especially in winter, but I think we have lost a connection to the land around us.
I hope you are healing. I seem to recall a post about medical problems.
Everything is a tradeoff, it seems. Yes, we have come a long way. Yes we have lost something. The loss in that connection is a big one. I had no idea how moving to Vermont would restore that connection for me, and what it would come to mean. I am still in treatment for cancer. Two more weeks and the rest of the healing can begin!