Picture drawn by my brother many years before the barn was torn down.
The loud roar thundered in my ears. Never had such a large shovel ripped at my heart as this one did. I tip-toed through the doors of the old red barn so as not to disturb the memories. My mind raced with times of childhood antics, happiness, and innocence. And dad. I was always happiest out in the barn with dad. But now, I watched this large thundering shovel tear down the walls and rip the old red barn apart. It seemed as though so many happy memories too were ripped and torn apart as well, and it left sadness. Sad. I felt sad. For now, the barn was gone, like dad. Curious. The pain is supposed to eventually go away when someone dies. But, as I watched the old red barn fall down and die, I cried. And I remembered dad.
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