I had to get up onto the roof of the barn yesterday to check how a bit of water dripped inside.  I found no evidence from up above, of how water could have gotten through the metal roof to the floor below.  While up there for the first time, I noticed how different the farm looked from the roof top.

Down there was one of the new asparagus beds (raised), and over there, next year’s garlic.  Nothing like a fresh layer of golden straw before weeds come barelling through!   The gate askew.  The shapes and stripes of color against a puffy gray sky with a distant white.  There are many ways to see this place.  It is a matter of perspective.  Perspective seems easier to notice in open spaces.  The space outside can more easily here, for me, be understood to mirror the ever-changing feeling of the space within.  Clarity one moment, lack thereof the next.   Not seeing the big picture, followed by rising above it all from a bird’s-eye view.  Clogged up, followed by relief and openness.  Noisey thoughts, followed by silence – silence like a golden layer of straw.  Today’s evening sunset with a little moon – another perspective altogether.

That same big Maple amidst early morning fog.

A walk in the fields, looking up at the homestead.

The same spot a day later, looking another way, at our next door neighbor’s farm and roled corn stalks.

Two days ago, the corn stalks were standing high, dry and crackly in the wind, making their own chorus like millions of rustling leaves.   Now what is left of their harvest is in cylinders.  It is such a romantic view, the field strewn all over with big rounds, neat and tidy.  Views change.  The seasons are changing.