The Old Barn

The nesting season is upon us.

People and animals alike, hunkered down against the elements that Mother Nature throws our way throughout the next few months.

A warm barn, always a welcoming  privilege, to those creatures great and small.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tons upon tons the brown-green fragrant hay
O'erbrims the mows beyond the time-warped eaves,
Up to the rafters where the spider weaves,
Though few flies wander his secluded way.
Through a high chink one lonely golden ray,
Wherein the dust is dancing, slants unstirred.
In the dry hush some rustlings light are heard,
Of winter-hidden mice at furtive play.

Far down, the cattle in their shadowed stalls,
Nose-deep in clover fodder's meadowy scent,
Forget the snows that whelm their pasture streams,
The frost that bites the world beyond their walls.
Warm housed, they dream of summer, well content
In day-long contemplation of their dreams.

 

                 Sir Charles GD Roberts