the barn as it looks to the father who's son has just died in a war

The barn is bright and sharp. The red paint shines like the surface is metal. It looks close, detailed, as if through a microscope. On the other hand, maybe it isn’t there at all, maybe it just looks like silence. There are shingles on the roof, big cedar ones in strait rows. They are ready to march. The lines seem to recede into the distance. It is a trick of perspective; all lines coming together at one point on the horizon. The barn door is rolled half way open. It looks dark inside. If you walked into the barn you would see slats of light coming through the cracks. You would see the dust dancing in the light. If you closed the door you would never know the dust was alive inside. These things are for another time. Right now you only look at chipped paint.