This Past Friday
The farmhouse on the rabbit patch is old . . almost a century old. It was built at a time, when real wood was used and put together with nails made of real iron. I know every inch of it personally, by now. This week I have reunited with every nook and cranny. The only things left in this house are things we need or love. To say, I have “cleaned my act up” is an understatement. My bones will attest to that.
Today, I am cleaning out two more barns. There are nine of them. These barns are not little garden sheds and I am quickly losing my affection for them. The flowers and verses I have painted on them, no longer tug at my heart. The painted wreaths on the doors do not cheer me. I am too tired and dirty to find them…
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