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It was my first Cathedral, Cavernous and nearly silent. Dark enough that I closed, My eyes giving them time To adjust to the depths, Of it's shadowed blackness. Languid slanting rays Of penetrating sunshine, Alive with moving mists, Of floating, rotating dust, The only source of light. The bittersweet scents, Of venerable age mixed, With fodder and animal waste, Not at all unpleasant to sniff. Leather tack hung on walls, Awaiting the call to work. Long delayed, and overlooked, Replaced by mechanical steeds, Wheels and blades of steel. Neatly festooned wall hooks Displaying wooden handled Hard-worn steel hand tools, Flecked with rust, chipped by use. The choir was in the rafters, Pigeons’ and Doves Cooing Heavenly Hymns. Occasionally the murmur of, Feathers flapping on high, Like the sounds, Of Angels wings. I climbed the ladder, Into the Loft up high, Followed by a friendly, Old one eyed Barn Cat, I recall his name was Cy. Old Cy who knew, All the good places, To explore and secretly hide. And too, where tasty rodents Were found in heavenly, bountiful supply. That lofty perch, Among the penetrating slanting rays of sunlight Inspired a fathomless hush of contemplation and inner bliss, I'd never known before, or since. We sat silent for many minutes, In a state of transfixed repose, Old Cy and I, speaking not a word.   We crawled among stacked bales, Of fragrant fresh cut hay, Like a lofty Fortress built for us, Playing and imagining, Endless flights of fantasy, Long into the eve of day. Yes, my Grandfather’s Old wooden Barn, Was indeed a magical, Reverent and sacred place,   As any formal denominational house, of any faith can be. If ever, I truly felt, The presence of Holy Grace Surely it was within, That impressionable all inspiring place. Even fleeing memories of a long ago small boy, Have not diminished, That big Cathedral's Prevailing, exalted space. Spiritually overseen by, An old, feline, one-eyed clergyman named Cy.
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Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
THE CATHEDRAL
It was my first Cathedral, Cavernous and nearly silent. Dark enough that I closed, My eyes giving them time To adjust to the depths, Of it's shadowed blackness. Languid slanting rays Of penetrating sunshine, Alive with moving mists, Of floating, rotating dust, The only source of light. The bittersweet scents, Of venerable age mixed, With fodder and animal waste, Not at all unpleasant to sniff. Leather tack hung on walls, Awaiting the call to work. Long delayed, and overlooked, Replaced by mechanical steeds, Wheels and blades of steel. Neatly festooned wall hooks Displaying wooden handled Hard-worn steel hand tools, Flecked with rust, chipped by use. The choir was in the rafters, Pigeons’ and Doves Cooing Heavenly Hymns. Occasionally the murmur of, Feathers flapping on high, Like the sounds, Of Angels wings. I climbed the ladder, Into the Loft up high, Followed by a friendly, Old one eyed Barn Cat, I recall his name was Cy. Old Cy who knew, All the good places, To explore and secretly hide. And too, where tasty rodents Were found in heavenly, bountiful supply. That lofty perch, Among the penetrating slanting rays of sunlight Inspired a fathomless hush of contemplation and inner bliss, I'd never known before, or since. We sat silent for many minutes, In a state of transfixed repose, Old Cy and I, speaking not a word.   We crawled among stacked bales, Of fragrant fresh cut hay, Like a lofty Fortress built for us, Playing and imagining, Endless flights of fantasy, Long into the eve of day. Yes, my Grandfather’s Old wooden Barn, Was indeed a magical, Reverent and sacred place,   As any formal denominational house, of any faith can be. If ever, I truly felt, The presence of Holy Grace Surely it was within, That impressionable all inspiring place. Even fleeing memories of a long ago small boy, Have not diminished, That big Cathedral's Prevailing, exalted space. Spiritually overseen by, An old, feline, one-eyed clergyman named Cy.
Grand old wooden barns are a disappearing breed. Standing in various stages of disrepair and non-use, replaced by metal clad boring industrial looking structures. They are a relic of the past. But anyone that has memories like mine, told here will never forget how grand they were. If you get a chance to visit one, do so before they are all gone and see if I was telling the truth. I was recently in another big old wood barn and was moved to write about it, but found this older piece that pretty much says it all. So it's a re-post.
Written by
stephen-e-yocum
M/American
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC
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