The Silent Barn

I climb the narrow staircase to the mow of my father’s barn, the wooden steps worn smooth by man. Thin, winter sunlight streams, like shards of glass through the cracks between the wallboards. My aged parents are away. My purpose here is to feed the cats, the only welcomed creatures of this barn. There are other unseen inhabitants: the mice, the racoons, and the rats that warrant the need for the cats and the .22 rifle hanging high on pegs at the bottom of the staircase—beyond the reach of children and the view of most.

Written in memory of Dawn’s father, James Beecroft.

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