Bales of straw and hay became forts and castles. Tunnels were created to hide us from the enemy. The old pulley now held a swing that Dad had rigged to pull us from one side of the barn to the other. We could fly through the air like Superman or Peter Pan. We could always threaten to toss our adversaries to the bovine calmly munching hay downstairs.
I long for those days again. The smell of the barn, the chance to swing once more. Ah, those were the days.

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