Sitting on bails of hay, listening to the rain on the tin roof. I close my eyes and hear echos of the past. I take in the smell of damp wood and the tapping of the rain on the metal. I hear chickens clucking and scratching in the dirt. I drift back into years past, as I hear the creak of the barn doors and the sound of horses in the stalls. I can feel the presence of an old time grand father and hear child hood laughter as he tells stories and piles up hay. I can once again feel the cool dirt beneath my feet and smell the corn drying in the rafters. Here I sit and rest is still quiet, thinking of times gone past. In an old barn with a rusty tin room and a few missing boards. A place where my childhood was simple, and for a brief moment, time stood still and happiness could be found.