Photos by: Kathryn McLane
The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready,
The dried grass of the harvest time loads the slow-drawn wagon,
The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged,
The armfuls are packed to the sagging mow.
I am there, I help, I came stretched atop of the load,
I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other,
I jump from the crossbeams and seize the clover and timothy,
And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps.
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The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready (from Song of Myself)
Walt Whitman