THE END OF THE MUSIC
WAS THE END OF ME
In the stable there was darkness and hay; it was always
damp and smelly, the horse seemed lame and the two
cats just hung around. The old, side-swiped barn was
leaning, but the cows still went to it, instinctively, twice
a day - they'd saunter in, all dirty and sullen from the fields,
and just line up for milking; like a trained routine for all.
I liked it there, it seemed perfect for me - the wood was
never painted, hadn't been for years, and all varied shades
of darkness were seen on the walls - shapes and drips of
moisture and rain and rot. Old hinges, harnessed forever
to their task, still functioned, sometimes with a groan. It
had to be eighty or a hundred years they'd been here.
Warren used to keep it quiet, but he'd talk about his
grandad and his father too, in those older days, how
they took pride in wiring up the radio to listen to
while they worked. I asked what'd they listen to?
He answered oh most anything, dance music mostly.
he said the cows enjoyed it, he remembered from
being a kid. But not for him, he preferred the 'better
sense' of peace and quiet. I agreed with him, just
thinking of all that horrid music and talk-show
stuff they have going now. Would have been
the death of me, had I had to listen
to that all day.
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