Spooky

I think my dark hay mow is very spooky.   The barn yard light was blasted off the wall above the door by a bolt of lightning several years ago, as if it was being marked by some supernatural  force.  It was screwed on very tightly, and now hangs by a wire, still waiting to be repaired.  The ceiling inside is very high and the rafters crisscrossing  are perfect places for spirits to hang out and watch the goings-on of humans and animals.  The hay mow is huge, I mean, really big.  It held thousands of bales back in the day, when the farm was 350 acres and there were a hundred cows underneath in the lower part of the barn.  There are lights up on the ceiling which I can't use as the bulbs have burned out.  Sister Bernadette used to change the light bulbs once a year when the bales piled high allowed her to climb up and put in new ones.   That won't happen anytime soon.   When I first moved here I was living in the little trailer just up the hill from the barn on the north side.  There was no room to sew in the trailer, especially if I pulled out the sofa to lie down on it at night.  I set up my sewing machine in the hay mow and sewing my Bundaflicka totes in there, with just one standing lamp next to the machine.  There was a wall of blackness all around me.   I landed here in August and Rhinebeck was in October.  I had to work at night or I wouldn't have anything to sell in the fall.  It was pretty darn scary let me tell you.  I'm easily spooked as it is.  I forced myself not to look up and around me, and just keep my eyes on what I was sewing.  I needed a flashlight to get back to the trailer, just a few feet away.  It was darker here eight years ago when I moved here.  Now light polllution from the massive Chobani yogurt factory has blocked out many of the stars and lightened up the area for miles around.  My sewing situation has improved quite a bit,  although it is still quite basic and cramped.  I have lights all around me and above me and a TV in front of me with every movie channel known to man.  Two sofas hold sleeping dogs who keep me company.  My sewing and spinning of wool has taken over my life and my living space.  I really need a second space to live in so this can be my studio.  I have the perfect spot, just above me, in the second gigantic hay mow that is never used.  It is closed off and empty.  There is a sturdy metal ceiling above it, nailed on by the Kupris sisters before they were Sisters, and jousts underneath.  Spouse, ever the naysayer, puts me off every year, saying he needs huge funds to begin the building of my studio.  He is used to building for wealthy people in New Jersey who provide him with ample funds at every step of the way.  Not gonna happen here.  In the meantime, I continue to sew, and dream.  Fantasies are free.  I stay away from the hay mow at night as best I can.  When it's dark at 5 pm in the winter that is hard to do.  I've been told someone hanged himself in there years ago.  The human drama of this farm is daunting.  Someday I will endeavor to write it down.