Barns are mirrors of life and history, and the light always seems to find them. They are filled with debris, the detritus and stories of past lives, they are simple but elegant structures. Whenever I enter the barn, the light is in a different place, shining on a different thing. There is a sense of waiting, old chairs waiting to be saved, the mowers and rakes put away for the cold seasons, the hay stacked up waiting for the snow, the barn cat slithering along the floor, waiting for something to kill or eat.