The Tosh Barn

Soft meadow grasses trace the barn’s

cedar walls kissed a soft pewter

by years of peace-dove rains.

Rivulets chased rivulets down the grains

raising ridges

as rough as the years gone by.

Standing proud in abandonment,

doors shuttered barely holding back

memories of bolts of horse power as

muscled stallions rippled across the field

crushing yellow flowers beneath their hooves.

Sun streams through the slats

and a sweet grassy smell steams out

as lovers roll in the hay.

A woman ponders her place in this world

with her forehead pressed into the cow’s side

as she works rhythmically, time passing in a trance.

The barn, its peaked roof parting daydream clouds

rooting us to everything we share

sun, wind, and air.

Nothing is new under the sun

Nothing is new under the sun

except the dark cottonwood leaves rustling applause

outside the barn.

A visual touchstone to

Redmond’s past,

where everything is new under the sun.

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