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A fascinating door. I wonder where it leads. what delights lie beyond its solid, wooden form ?
Perhaps it leads us to some Eastern souk or bazaar; it has that sort of shape, I think …….
A vibrant market, full of noise and vivid colours; hustle and bustle and teeming with life. Urchins running down narrow streets, through washing, hung across the thoroughfare to dry in the hot sun. Veiled women in the wide market square, buying mangoes and bright gourds. And all around, the aroma of spices, street-food and mysterious Oriental perfumes.
Or maybe it is the gateway to some misty, magical ‘Narnia’. A land of faeries and wicked queens. Of brave knights, dragons and beautiful princesses. Of snowy-topped mountains and crystal palaces, of monsters and ogres and derring-do.
It could lead to a secret garden. A tranquil place, where tinkling, silver water-falls tumble down mossy rocks to a limpid pool. Where butterflies cavort with humming-birds and sniffly-nosed rabbits venture from their warm burrows to crop the dew-strewn emerald grass. Foxgloves and sweet-briar bloom in the hedge and we can sit and dream in the shade of a willow and listen to the gentle hum of bees.
Could it be the entrance to the courtyard of some stately home or even a castle ? Beyond which lies a paved terrace and sweeping park-land ? I wonder if gardeners toil among the fragrant red rose bushes ……. frantically painting the huge scarlet blooms white …….. before the queen appears………. ?
Or ‘bright young things’ rolling up in low-slung Hispano-Suizas and ‘strap-across-the-bonnet’ Bentleys; white-wall tyres scrunching on the gravel drive. All champagne bubbles; sparkling, bugle-beaded dresses and white bow-ties. Laughter and debauchery spilling out of open French windows and drifting across moonlit lawns.
There could be, beyond this door, a cool, quiet, comfortable room. Walls lined with leather-bound books. Library-steps, lamps, low tables and plump, over-stuffed velvet sofas. Sunlight dripping through the casement windows and forming iridescent rainbow pools on the polished, oak floor. The only sounds …… the tick-tock of a long-case clock and the occasion rustle of a turning page.
Perhaps two lovers meet beyond this door. A rare moment of passion, entwined in each other’s arms. Whispered words; soft caresses; stolen moments far from prying eyes. ………………..Lets leave them there………
But, why not tarry a while and dream a little …….. what do YOU imagine is behind this door ?
PS It is actually a side entrance to the local church …… But I’m not one to let reality stand in the way of fantasy ………