STORIES

the farmer shut the old, red, wood door
of the beloved barn
it was a hard day of work
but the night was cool and the breeze was soft
and he knew tomorrow was a day of rest
he walked towards the kindly lit farm home
and wondered what supper had been
he was confidant that his work had been well done
and that all was safely stored away
that he had once planted and grown
behind him
the small beetles swarmed the loft of the barn
now freshly filled with fragrant hay
they built small houses with thatched roofs, first
then small towers
and next
tall mounds
they had a city by morning, and what a small world it was!
it had dark tunnels and weak bridges
and dirt covered wood streets
"how prosperous we have become!
we shall surely rule
so that even the farmer will one day see our power
and lack of need for him"
the beetles arrogantly thought to themselves
by midday, they had made an entire anthill of ants
into servants and slaves
and by evening, they were ready to begin
on the 6th level of their rather tiny project
they were anxious to get along with the plans they had made
and no longer wanted to waste any time
but the sun was creeping lower
and the light was not as good
so if no one had any clever ideas they would soon
have to turn in until the next morning
one fat beetle whispered an idea that sounded brilliant
to the older beetles in command
so they quickly shouted to the ants to enact the solution
as quickly as possible
a large magnifying glass was carried on their backs
from under the abandoned workbench
and placed high up on the hay in the brightest sunlight
found this rather sunny afternoon
a bright spot was produced right where
the working beetles needed it!
"perfect!!!"
they applauded their new hero and wrote his name in the dirt
for they thought he had the most wonderful mind
in the entire world
to think of such a thing
at such a time
3 hours later the barn was scorched and black
and only a standing skeleton of beams remained
to remind the farmer of all that he so proudly built
and labored for 30 years to keep
how would he provide for his family?
could his hopes be rebuilt and his dreams be recalled?
did he have the passion he held as a youth
to remake all that he loved as it once was?
he stared hard and long at the burned out silhouette
of broken memories
as tears filled his eyes
and he tried to picture it as it all should be -
as it was all meant to be this day
his wife had hung sweet smelling baskets of flowers
from the timbers on the east side
and he often liked to pick one in the morning
to carry with him throughout his mundane chores
and daily work in the adjoining wood shop
so that he could always remember her gentle sweetness
and graceful beauty
and just how sweet home would be
when all was finished each day
he squinted his eyes as the tears flowed
and he remembered his faithful horses
and their kind neighs as he used to brush them
all was lost
why did this have to happen?
he hoped one day life would return to this land,
and the innocence too
for it now bred such horrible fears and doubts
to all who passed by on the gravel country road
tonight he would pray
tomorrow he would begin the hard work
and someday . . .
maybe . . .


ten