Sorting through boxes in the barn, I find old family photos, a stack of burlap bags, canning jars, carefully wrapped in roses and ferns, sprinkled with dusty straw. A swallow swoops through an open window, disappears in the darkened rafters. Computer carcass supports a tired broom, black handle resting on wires. Baskets and a banana box are neighbors to a lonely, red boot. It is so quiet here.