I think I posted this one before, but I’m editing things and I couldn’t help but fall back in love with this section:
The barn was well cared for. It’d been built by hands that loved the feeling of hard work between their fingers, and by eyes that knew good foundations from poor. The paint was due for another coat this summer, but with the Amish gone, no one knew who would paint it. Who would remove the bird nests from the rafters. Who would mend the holes left from squirrels hiding their provisions inside. Who would rid the barn from its newest infestation: this new religious fervor that smeared itself across the walls and floors.