Rays of the dying sun,
reach through cracks in the weatheredroof,
to lend spotlight to the dancing dust,
an aerial ballet of tinypinprick flashes of light.
A wave of musty odor assaults my nostrils,
as Istep into the coolness of the barn.
The moldy straw rustles andswishes
under my shuffling feet,
I sneeze as I peer into a duskycorner,
but find only spider colonies, weaving their
silky webs.
I climbover a low wall,
the rotted wood shedding splinters
into my palms,
myfeet land on a rusty
milk bucket and I am pitched forward
into the dry,powdery dirt of the floor.
I swat the dark granules from my jeans,
as Ipass aged milk stalls,
part the sea of rotting harnesses,
spare rope,slaughter hooks,
and corroded chains hanging from behind a door in theback.
The splintered wood is hanging by one decrepit
hinge as I gently pullit open,
A calico mother is nestled in a
bed of straw, purring gently toher children,
bathed in the glow of the afternoon light,
as the dust balletcomes to a close over their heads.