Prose poem: Hut

Hut

A hut suggests nothing except it is old and a measure of length and height and made of stone. It appears lost and alone sitting beside a field on a gravelly road, yet the right reason is utility and certainly it is not negative which means it has a purpose. There’s a strong panting when the wheelbarrow is offloaded and a winter’s fuel is stacked delicately, delicately so as not to fall. Certainly the wood is placed upright wall to wall, never looking out. It’s not necessary for timber to have a view, timber has a purpose to return again to the wheelbarrow and be trundled out of the hut and possibly there is an aching and sweat dripping to the hearth. It’s quite fitting then to have a hut beside a road in a farmer’s field close to the woods with no window, the dry succouring a colour change within.