photograph by Cheryl Merrill

photograph by Cheryl Merrill


A door closes behind me.  Another one opens before me.  My life: doors and side-doors, opening, closing, rooms I do not recognize, rooms that are familiar.  Outdoors, indoors.  Locked doors.  Doors ajar.  Double doors.  Doors that squeak.  Doors unhinged.  Silent doors.

Latch, unlatch.  Doors easy to open, doors impossible to shut.  Solid doors, hollow doors.  Doors that blow open, doors that slam shut.

Big doors.  Small doors.  Ornate doors, plain ones.  Doors that open in.  Doors that open out.

Yours is the door upon which I now knock.  This day east of you, I would carry west, and lay upon your doorstep: a world without windows, without doors.


4 responses

  1. Hehe – yes, of course, west of here and east of there. Got a little confused (what’s new?), having recently moved from the west side to the east side as in ♫ moving on up ♫. A date on the International Date Line is perfecto with me, as long as we know where to draw the line! Hugs

  2. This is a magical piece of writing, Cheryl ! Maybe someday, east of here and west of there, we will meet. With love

    1. Ummm, don’t you have to go west and I go east? 🙂 We could meet at the International Date Line! Hugs.

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