The Backroad to Memory Lane

The barn cuts a solitary figure
As ink blots of rain
Splatter the already worn façade,
A face that has known all weather,
Seen so much, as time passes,
That could never be erased, never swept away.
Miles tick by unremarkably
For cars on the road,
But the splash of red paint on a gray canvas,
The vibrant green of grass
That hasn’t thirsted in a summer drenched by rain,
Open the tired eyes
Of people on their mundane drive,
People on dusty routes
That have yearned for beauty, for true sight
Of the meaning in their lives,
Some memory
Of simpler times, a universal language,
Written in the prairie landscape dotted with farms
From before the highways were built,
Back when they’d sit on their porches
Watching the storm, in awe of nature,
Counting the thunder claps,
But caring not of the distance or time.
Life was more than a means to a destination.