There are a few bits of last years grass and brittle limbs and stumps growing up through the four inch fence. The tree is something of a tangled mess, as are the boards that looked pasted on instead of nailed to the front of the barn.
There's pieces and bits of the hollow old shell that are still hung in place and as many that are lost to the wind. The pipe fence is still new, from the sixties it seems, the red coated paint looks good from this distance, but soaked in to each board like the night-time has been. The roof has been peeled back a hair at a time, and the doors are brittle, their hinges are gone, but it stands there braving the wind from the southwest, holding its own once again.
It is not supposed to be there, but look into center of the mass, and you can see the light broadcast to the inside that never should have shown, flicking the walls, brightening up the dark space, and making it glow, searching for life.
Ralph Peck
Photo by Ralph Peck
Osage, Oklahoma, a little ways west of Pryor
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