Old Barn

She went back to a place she'd thought little of to see if she'd matured any. A large dusty building filled with trinkets of every era greeted her with creaky floorboards and quiet rooms. She wandered, her fingertips grazing the delicate glass figurines and a pair of 1850's Victorian shoes as she took in the musky air with renewed curiosity. Everything had belonged to someone else, but somehow ended up here. It used to be a garage back when cars were clunky and identical, but now it entertained endless years of priceless artifacts. She wondered who the serious people in the tarnished black and white photos were and why they seemed so sad, she flicked a key on an old typewriter while mulling over the people who could have possibly done the same thing one hundred years ago. This place was no longer a boring, old, dusty, waste of time, it was a haven for the lost things.
The sun made her squint her eyes as the fresh air sent goosebumps up her arms. A farmers market sat nestled between the barn and a parking lot, fresh flowers blooming out of plastic buckets. Vendors piled their fresh produce high on their tables, reaching out free samples to those passing by. Red cherries, aromatic strawberries, glistening blueberries, and brilliant summer squash tickled her senses as she stopped to chat with a Grecian selling varieties of humus and pita. Perusing the fresh selections, she toted a bag of fresh strawberries on one arm and held a can of soda in the other hand, the sun gently streaming down on everything. As she walked down the remaining isles, back to her car, she realized that the simplicity of her day had been previously under appreciated and so she made it her goal to move closer to the places that offered simplicity in colorful heaps and antiquity on wooden shelves.