I was thinking of the barn and how each of its elements has it’s own little soul, and how those little souls may be tied to other people.

The floor of the barn is wonderful. You can walk in your bare feet and never get a splinter. My friend sweeps it with a compound I never heard of.  I’m not given to sweeping floors the way he is. He likes to dance and play basketball, things I’m not into. But I like that floor a lot, especially the flat wood it’s made of and the way that it’s sprinkled with paint because other people have painted there before, especially a sculptor that used to work there before me.