A barn, large and red, trimmed in white,
settles itself in a field of wheat
that dances to and fro, yellow and gold.
Right is a homely pale blue house,
two stories tall. Windows reflect the sun,
eggshell paint peels from the railing
that is the front porch. Two welcoming
rocking chairs the color of butter
and freshly cleaned sway slightly in the breeze.
Apple pie is in the air, mixed with manure,
or dirt. Laundry from the line out back
wafts the light scent of lavender into
the oil dripping from the tractor nearby.
A motor far off in the distance rumbles
down a country lane moving away
and crickets can be heard though twilight
hasn’t yet fallen. Horses nay and whinny
stomping their hooves for grain and
the screen door slams in response.
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