The Soul

The soul of the barn called me closer, caught my eye. It didn’t matter that it was tattered and worn, we are all worn and broken one way or another.

I stood there taking in its beauty, wondering about the stories this old barn could tell. Farmer of years gone by and his kids swinging from a rope inside, as they jumped into hay spread out below. I could almost hear the giggles of days before, almost see the farmer throwing down corn in the field. 

It’s not about our broken shell, or aging bones – it’s the stories inside the soul that richly bless others. 

How many mouths had this farmer fed across the miles of our great land? This barn had stories deep inside, and my imagination ran wild.

Onto the next barn I went, for I love the look of these old structures sitting all alone on a plot of land. 

These barns hold a rich heritage, yet they never bother a soul. They form the security for the farmer himself, holding his great treasures of livestock, farm tools and such. 

The soul of an old building could tell a thousand stories if it could, if only it could.

S Heckman

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