All sorts of things have a power which is awe-inspiring in its strength and magical in the mystery of its fount. The surge of the sea, new spring growth on brittle gray branches, the winds of a storm, or a crackling fire - all evince life's energy. The complexity and mystique of its endurance comforts, reassures, and humbles.
I find it in a barn. Every corner thrums
with vitality. Comforting sounds of feet shuffling, chains rattling, water dripping
from muzzles, the munching of grain, even the scurry of little gray feet
dodging large hooves for a dropped oat morsel. The scents of pine shavings,
fresh hay, and the animals themselves, both invigorate but soothe the psyche.
Little else brings the contentment one finds closing the barn doors on a cold
winter night, knowing all are fed and content, sheltered and safe.
Even the old, empty barn has a life force.
Faded, it clings gently to the ghosts of past occupants. Spiders
hang in corners, bits of dust dance in shafts of sunlight, smells linger in
spite of being stale. Wood creaks, and rusted hardware eager to be worked thirsts for a bit of oil and a strong hand. Defying the silence, swallows
swoop and chatter.
I slowly close the old heavy doors,
remembering and a bit wistful, but also at peace. All is still content here.
