Battle

Cold and dust sweeping in bursts across wide open courtyard conveying a feeling of desolation.

Morning, sun still weak, waking slowly, eyes still shut. Casting light, but not as yet warmth; sitting, waiting.

Shadow from long face of barn, emphasised by low angle of sun, depicts beautifully the mood. Reaching house, laps at walls, like cat crying for food. Creeps up walls, moving at invisible pace.

Trees, lining courtyard, at outer extremities, bend inward, straining to hear faint whispers of rumour spread through wind. Hearing, they repeat.

Old tractor dying by short side of barn, asks only ‘why’.

Fence groans at agony of boredom; close to cracking. Wires strung between posts flap to find comfort, a never-ending search.

Wind puffs cheeks in sympathy, and goes its way.

Again calls out fence, to be responded to only by slight further venture of sun above horizon.

Ground greets light and sun, not seen since yesterday. Tracks from old tractor highlighted by white blaze from sky; blue reflection of red sun.

Tree nearest to fence, glad for heat at last, begins daily conversation with fence. Creak, starts tree close to fence. Groan, echoes fence, yet again suffering. First cold, then heat, then wind comes.

On cue, burst of wind toys with fence. Rustle of leaves communicates sadness, on fence’s behalf.

...

A spiteful hiss of dust on long side of barn signals change. Hot dust flies, speeds through air on wind.

Crack, retorts barn loudly, and settles, content with two inches movement.

And gate lies open. Not fully, but half-ajar. As on all previous days which farm remembers, gate watches, listens and feels. Watching for signs, listening for signals, feeling the grief so evident.

Meanwhile, long side of barn fights with dust-in-wind. Stronger and stronger beats dust on barn. Louder and louder cries barn for help. Trees shy away from responsibility, leaning in on each other for moral backing, justifying complacency.

Creak gives way, once again, to crack, as barn gives way to dust-in-wind. Size gives way to numbers, age gives way to lifeless. Barn falls.

A murmur flits among trees, as birds between feeding grounds. A gasp of a rustle, and a crash of wood on earth, a sigh of hopelessness, and silence.

Trees sway, mourning the death. Tractor faces the other way, as behind, last breath of breeze fades. Gate rocks in sadness, but not for long. Such things are not so rare on farm. Fence only groans, but now with a sadder note combined.

Then returns wind, having failed to get rid of dust therein, and seeks to off-load such dreadful cargo. Dust-in-wind circles old tractor - another victim? A nonchalant whistle from old tractor says otherwise.

On speeds dust-in-wind, to house. All windows stay closed, not resisting wind nor dust. Faint clicking, dust against glass. A defiant noise, inspiring farm as a whole, willing farm to resist wind, dust and change.

Trees stand tall, proud. Fence quietens in the face of bravery. And gate rocks. Flat roof of barn, baking, rusting, decaying, breathes a last charge: do not go quietly into the night.

Loud howls wind, a lost soul in torment: will dust-in-wind never become dust-on-floor? Dust says not, but wind whispers to trees, and trees respond. Tree nearest fence passes on the message: stand proud - it is but dust.

Though wind rages, though dust tears through trees, through tractor and around house, the message lives on.

A blind flurry of dust and wind. Leaves lost in battle carried, tossed and flung, spiralling ever upward. A tunnel of dust, of separated earth, lines the route to the heavens.

Onward marches tall soldier of whirling dust-in-wind, striding through farm like giants through fields.

Tree nearest fence, tugged, pulled, but not giving in. Fence, weak, nearer to breaking.

Then tall soldier of dust-in-wind is gone. Dust-in-wind returns to dust-on-floor, still as calm pond, as powerful now as fence.

But gate is fallen.

Trees sway once more, fence groans at injustice, and roof of barn settles; battle half-won, half-lost.

Fence-wires clap insensitively, and gate rocks no longer. Tractor stands respectfully still and silent, and tree nearest fence whispers once again to fence.

End