What is it about barns, especially old, run down, paint-gone, forsaken ones? Why, when I’m in the middle of too-much, too-loud, too-busy, do I long for an old, quiet, isolated, musty barn in a huge, painful way?
Is it because they seem like a beloved grandparent with enough time, focus and peace to wrap an arm around me and just let me “be;” no rush, no worry–with the perspective of a long life well-lived that makes my present, temporary pressures melt away?
Even as I just click through images of old barns from around the world, the barn-magic works. I feel my pulse slow, my focus realign to the more solid, steady pace of a simpler day-gone-by.
I have a feeling my mansion in heaven will be a salvaged barn with sunlight shining down through sparkling dust motes and ancient rope loops hanging from rusty nails in faded, work-scarred walls—perhaps with the occasional barn owl flapping through a high, open door and a gray-striped tabby kitten chasing hallucinations across the floor.
Click the link at the top of the page to order your copy of Chana’s novel, The Rapha Chronicles, Book 1: THE FALL
Only $10 now! (Help her clear out the first printing from the defunct publisher and start fresh!)