Today I spent the day finding stability in the stables lining either side of the barn I lurked into just in time to judge the time was somewhere between the shadows below cast east and west, even though I had no idea which was which.
In the spirit of balance, and pressured by my inner guide to thrust open the shudder style barn doors on the upper floor with even pressure from either fist, I shuddered peering down at the drop, should the rotting wood fail beneath my weight.
I rolled out my mat, and in the span of an hour stretched closer to equilibrium, evening the odds, and left when it felt right. Scaling the edges of the edifice, I wove to avoid horse, cow, or whatever animal I dare not think has left its pies baking downstairs in this Georgia heat to pungent perfection.
I took my time, however, admiring the symmetry first from the inside, beaming at the rows of columns cross hatched above me in such straight linear arrangement that it constructed a whole new definition to “line dancing.” I decided from the outside that if I were to fold up this structure to tuck into my pocket, not one misaligned smudge would appear to rub me wrong.
Standing tall in that forest lined field, the architectural astonishment will now be but a memory of a place where I spent my one upon a time feeling flushed as red as its walls.