The Old Barn

Since I’ve lived in the village, the old barn has stood, it was of indeterminate age, but definitely venerable. On a sunny crisp day in March, our friends from New Zealand visited, this is probably the last ever photo of the old barn. The next day when I walked to work through the moors I saw its remains burning in a pyre.

We saw it yesterday, just a fragile frame of wood,
ivy caressed,
the fragile skeleton on the edge of the moor,
the men came, and without ceremony,
dismembered it,
piled its bones and set it on fire,
yellow flames licking at the edge of memories,
ashes rising in the air,
history atomised

Words by Mel Melis, All photos by Donna Grewal ©