Every morning, I take the pitchfork in the barn and I collect the hay that spills onto the ground every morning when we cut the baling wire and separate leaves to bring out to the animals. This morning, I leaned the pitchfork against the window briefly and was struck by the grace and simplicity and timelessness of the pitchfork.

I put the hay aside and grabbed the camera. A study in grace, in the barn’s own Windowsill Gallery.