Lucky Year Indeed
The massive barn had narrow openings in every wall, where the boards had splintered and warped after decades of weather on the Great Plains. In the late afternoon sun, I could see the light shining like wide yellow laser beams through the slats, spreading over the rusty tools that were covered in dried clumps of gray dirt, and the limp hay lying in dense mounds beneath the hay loft. Doves fluttered on the highest wooden joists, swirling the air and sending dust through the light beams in slow downward spirals. Swallows flew in and out of the gaps in the seams of the barn. Occasionally they would dart in and swoop a fast circle in the center of the barn before flying out again like a missile, back into the bright sky.