This is so gorgeous, I had to share
Were you born in a barn? Not me, but I wish. I lived in the tiny asphalt-shingle house just south of the barn.
The barn was huge and white, with doors that rolled open wide enough that even the big tractor passed through with room to spare. There were two tall silos on the east side, and a loft with arched rafters that formed a dome high above the hay. You could climb the ladder up and build forts with the barn cats. The light that came in through small windows, diffused by dust and hay, had a way of making things look sacred, like those holy cards with prayerful saints in halos. Our barn was simply the warmest, most inviting place in the world. And much bigger than a church. What was I supposed to think?
Is this not the barn story you expected this time of year?
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