Dust has become something we have become accustomed to in this little corner of not quite the south of France. The summer months are generally hot and so dry that not only does the earth that we walk on turn to dust but everything that grows within it, everything standing and built upon it. Dust creeps in open doors and windows, comes in on our clothes, our skin and hair, it is part of summer life.
The dust in our barn though was hundreds of years of filthy and ancient dust, not for the faint hearted unacceptable dust…
Dust…
Old bales of grey hay
(mould dust)
scattered logs, branches, leaves
(sawn dust)
broken machines, a freezer
oak beams by eight
(bought in-situ dust)
tiny shoes, children’s clothes
filled suitcases, boxes
school books and accounts
(memories dust)
old beds, old doors
boards from old floors
empty jars, pots of paint
excuse me a minute I think I might faint,
breathe in — breathe out
the half skeleton you see has a snout
ignore the snake skin curled in a corner
the walnut shells left by secret hoarders
don’t look, just do
it’s all just dust
of years passed before you.
You can read more about the big barn clean up here;
100 words are written for Erica Drayton’s Free writing Friday, if you think you’d like to join in just click below and follow her instructions.
Goodness, these 100 words paint such a vivid picture of history. For me, it's amazing how the limited word version is able to do this.
Captured perfectly!