The Door

This old, marred wooden screen door is outdated and well-used.  Some people might even consider it an ugly, ratty-looking eyesore.

However, I find it inspiring. When it closes, the resulting smack-of-a-bang sets off memories of sandy bare feet tromping across a threshold with wet beach towels dragged behind.  It’s a sound very similar to that made by the door to the lake cottage of my childhood.

So often we want what we think is better, only to find it is less.  In fact, it is rare to live close to the earth like we did back then, co-existing with squadrons of moths patrolling our light bulbs, and mineral-laced well water pumped straight from the earth.  Back when I shared the sleeping porch with graceful spiders on stilts: granddaddy long legs.

Doors that fit that kind of life - like this very door I am touching right now - aren’t even made anymore.

See?  It locks with a swinging fastener, exactly the way I remember my special door from the past – a silver hook that carved a smooth, pale scar during so many in-and-out visitations.

A door is just a door, until it becomes a symbol of a lifestyle gone with the times.  When it represents the beauty of less, in the form of simplicity and freedom.