The wood, darkened red and grey,
Here and there, as it wants.
They will not close.
The doors are what they are
How they are meant to be.
Into the barn’s interior mystery.
Hints of distant fields
Through the cracks and slats of the barn,
This eccentric leans away from the westerlies,
Who am I?
What have been my westerlies?
I don’t know about hers.
Probably not so different from my own.
She is resilient
As the winds, rain, sleet, ice, the long summer’s heat
Tore against her.
Like her enduring, faithful companion,
Also leaning away from the westerlies.
The Soulful Barn’s face
And the Tree’s witness their initiation
Who would do no harm, cause no suffering.
The tree with thick arms leaning with her companion,
Reveals her admiration and gratitude for her faithful companion.
“Now,” the tree says, “now,
Just be here,
Inviting the hungry to stop
And saunter cautiously, if they must, to your entrance,
And lean inward
To absorb your steadfast resilience."
Because we lean,
We are imperfect but safe companions,
Even as the next westerly
Approaches in the distant dark clouds.
How I long for companions who are resilient
And safe and faithful as you. copyright 2014 John Holliger