BIG RED BARN

Anna-bell had a cowbell and she lived on a farm. She ate hay in the day and chewed cud all night long.

She waddled in winter but ran throughout summer and waited until autumn was warm. She walked when she shivered, and mooed when she faltered, but never was left there alone.

A big old red rooster sat proud in the clover and crowed until morning would come. On fortune, on freedom, on clover, on deeds done — he sat there like no one before them. Their wartime and sirens were memories still fading while his cries brought them good times to daytime.

On a barn, in the sunshine, hung a rusty old wind chime that clanged, as the cows would come home.

The farmer’s fair daughter stirred a can of rainwater and clouds swirled in the bucket she played in. The reflection was lazy and she shared it so freely that nothing was left there for long.

The pigs kept up squealing while the mother shaved peelings, leaving nothing ever undone.

The kittens were purring and the momma cat grooming the duck that had raised her from young. The cats could all quack and the duck began meowing once they had all settled down.

A layer of frogs was laid in a lump while nesting the eggs from the hen that were dropped.

The eagle sat perched on the tree that was fallen by the logger that came in the winter much earlier.

The reeds in the water echoed songs of grandfather getting drunk on his moonshine and laughter.

But, it was the mountain and molehill that broadcast mere nothings once they telegraphed young Anna-bell’s song.