Red Paint Flaking by Warren R. Smith

In the old barn loft there is something almost remembered. In the faded corn powder and littered straw, the boards creaking underfoot, between the rafters and the soft dirt below – something. Only it has hidden itself in the very frame and shape of the building, red paint flaking outside, rotted tires within, and the mouse nests – lots of mouse nest in the air. On bundled lengths of bailing wire and home-fashioned tools on nails hung, rusted and staining my fingers for looking, I am turned like the light, dully deflected, for all the distance come, by the stubborn silver flaked and corrugated tin above.

Yet, in the narrow pens and wooden ways, burnished smooth by generations of hide and hand, is stabled in silence something – something in that, with a lingering stroke over these coarse and dusty shelves, long untouched, I find myself searching.

© 2014 Warren R. Smith

Warren R. Smith is an audio engineer who enjoys the simple life in the high desert and frequenting a local place called The Short Story. He lives in Sante Fe, NM and blogs at http://warrenrandolphsmith.blogspot.com

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