The Bunker Hill Barn, one of my favorite barns and one of the first barns I ever photographed, sat in splendid isolation on Bunker Hill Road. I often sat and walked around this barn, and twice fell through the floor taking photos (I was pulled out by a local Presbyterian pastor who happened by and saw my car).

The Bunker Hill Barn did not survive this winter, succumbing just a couple of days ago, to snow, ice and then wind. The roof is already gone, taken away. I expect the rest of this beautiful barn will be gone in a day or so. I felt some emotion when I saw this barn, but I am done with fear and with stories of lament and struggle. Like the poet says, the moving finger writes, and having writ, moves on. Nor all your piety and wit shall change a word of it.

So I give thanks, and offer a blessing, and say goodbye.