From inside the old sagging pole barn a drop of oil fell and the powered dust echoed loud in the silent gloom spraying forth in a micro geyser. A swirl of dancing wind carried the dust out in magic beams of moon light made strong by the tractor’s ancient toil and worn decay. Twisting twirling floating like an evil fairy dust free from earth’s bonds vapors of burned tractor oil iridescent streamers pushing pulling the dust along. I inhaled deeply the night air of the open window pregnant with springs promise of new birth and feel the tickle of old oil on my sleeping sinuses and the tickle of acient barn dust in my ear