“In the hallow fields of grain and wheat lies the old barn where I plant my feet. The doors are larger than my Small frame can pull, so I usually crawl through the trap door. The smell of fresh cut whey tickles the senses as golden piles of straw are turning to dust. Laying among the proof of hardworking hands, staring at a tin roof speckled by holes that still stands. Sunlight filters through each rusty rain catching break, brings warmth and a smile to my face. I lay and wonder, how many before me used this very spot to think and ponder. A valley of gold , rest my soul, a place to grow lazy and set eyes ready for slumber. This old barn holds more than hay… It carries the weight of my day~”@inkwellwriter5


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