The Loft

Hours were spent searching for kittens and hiding from mom and dad.

Pushing bales down in the winter after spending afternoons stacking them up in summer, always seemed so strange.

A place to sit, after popping the door open, to watch the sun set over the hills.
Quiet moments spent climbing to the top of a taller stack of bales, to watch the swallows fly in and out from the peephole.

The loft was a hide away,
a hidden gem.

It was where I watched kittens be born, where I went when I was sad, and where I went to daydream as a kid.

I still worry about missing a step and slipping to my death from the top of the ladder, but I love that room at the top of the barn, where the smell of hay and rough, unhewn boards still permeates over top of the smell of scat and dust. A place to hide from the world for a few minutes. A place to reminisce about a childhood that seems so far gone.

Forever am I grateful for being raised in a barn.

❤️ Richelle