I think of old barns as being a kind of museum, repositories of history and life and light. There is no light like the light of a barn coming through an old pane of glass and landing on hay and old barn walls, there is something unique about this light, inspiring and soothing and calm.

Maybe it’s because this light as been falling on hay and walls for more than 200 years, or that the light moves every time you look at it, or the mix of red and yellow and green are unique, and not seen elsewhere. Every day when I come into the barn I think I want to take a photograph of the light coming in through the window panes. Maybe I will.