The Thing that Was Different

The Thing that was Different

I had painted that old garage before –

The first time was right after we bought the place.

Something about a new coat of paint

Gave a sense of pride and accomplishment.

The second time was after years of sun, wind and rain

Had pushed that structure to the limit.

Lots of living had taken place

Since the first painting.

We already had boxes

Of family memories

Stored on the shelves inside.

I spent a day scraping the sides of the garage

Clearing off the flakes of peeling paint.

I hired a man to help and

Between the two of us

The old garage shaped up

Good as new.

This time

When the weathered boards

Needed attention

My daughter helped me with the painting.

She had not even been born

The first time I painted this place.

Once again I saw the beauty

Of a fresh coat taking shape.

That familiar satisfaction

Of new paint

Made my heart light.

Yet under the roller I heard the crackle

Of of dry wood.

The thing that was different

Was that I could

Feel it in my body.

I knew how that building felt, soaking up

The moist paint.

I did not recall

Knowing that before.

The old garage

Has steadfastly stood;

Holding tools and projects,

Cherished items and fond memories

Throughout the years.

The thing that was different this time 

Was that after three grand efforts

In the life of the old building,

I did not think that

I would be painting this garage again.

                                                                ~ CK