Steve took it
Barn Dusting
Across every rural landscape in North America, the sloping roofs and weathered sides of the old, unused barn are scattered like forgotten sentries. I played in one of these as a child, had my first kiss in the humid air of the uppermost eaves, scratched my arms and legs stacking tightly packed alfalfa bales well into the moonlit nights. Bent and grey even then, it was full of leather harness straps and old steel horseshoes and tools with rusty edges. It smelled of straw and aged wood and in the sharp lines drawn by the sun streaming through the thin spaces in the walls, you could see the air, thick with chaff and specks of shiny dust.
Alone in a field and obscured by a dusting of snow, this photograph beautifully captures the mood of these rural tokens, reminders of a way of life that is no longer practical.
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