Burning Barnes

The last barn stood beside a railroad crossing at about the three and a half mile mark. The building itself, i'm not sure you could even call it a building any more,. It fitted description of a building just waiting for someone to commit it to the flames. Maybe he decided on some other barn somewhere, or was too busy to find the time to burn one. I didn't hear from her at all. December came and with it the end of fall. And the morning air turned piercingly cold. No change in the barns, just white frosts covering their roofs in frozen woods. Winter birds noisily flapped their wings. The world moved on as always.