Barn Flight

The old barn, weather-worn and gray,

opened its doors and took us in that summer’s afternoon,

cousins visiting, barn-less children, city-living,

took us into the dark and the sweet smell of hay-drying,

into a dimmed light, sunlight peeking in through barn-boards 

dried and gaping, and a lone window, cobwebbed and dusty,

a grimed light alive with dust-motes, visible now

in lingering light-flight, sparkling, inviting us in;

and we climbed to the rafters, daring, and dared,

tentative and afraid, but letting go, jumping out

and down, dust-motes ourselves taking flight, lingering

to land among the sweet smell of hay-drying,

old and dry and dusty straw piled high, catching us,

cushioning us, softening our fall, this childhood flight,

our laughter rafter filling, caught, in an old barn,

weather-worn and gray, opening its doors and taking us in.