In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

Barnlife Early that Sunday I walked the abandoned farm and saw the gray barn that rose frozen out of winter's ground. It stood silent, hollow as promises, expectant as that moment of mystery before light, before you and me. I imagined the life it once had; holding cows crowded at feeder troughs, warmed by their sour breath steaming on cold nights. I imagined how it would be to depend on life from without as I swung barn doors hung on hinges, rusted brown. Then standing, at just that point of entrance and exit, I realized the air was both coming and going as you and I have come and gone. -Rey Ford Whisper Too shaped by the geography of people, you cross over the small hill onto hard fields beyond the sound of their voices saying, "This way. This way," until you reach the woods and sit on mossy dirt. You watch raindrops run out over the underbrush, the wind ripple leaves pendent between thin limbs. You hear the whisper of the white pine's needle dance as it bows to the fragile breath of the forest. You feel the cool air against your cheek and walk on through the woods making no sounds louder than those around you. -Rey Ford ...

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Additional Information

ISSN
2692-9287
Print ISSN
2692-9244
Pages
p. 53
Launched on MUSE
2014-01-08
Open Access
No
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