This barn sits on a corner property and I’ve been watching it over the past few years descend into fragments of a hallucination. Musty hay covers the floor on both levels while old black office chairs lay tumbled in the left stall. A couple of unrecognizable stuffed toys are scattered outside the barn in tall weeds. Spiral notebooks are open to the time of day while cold north wind blows the pages reading nothing. And in the south stall a long rusty wire hangs from a beam with a stale bite of rope reserved for dispair.