knock knock,,,,,,whos there?

I asked my friend’s elderly father what his favorite holiday gift was, as we Skype’d across the continents.

He pulled out a photo of a door that he had been promised for years would be hung.

It was a beautiful door, made with incredible, loving craftsmanship.

For decades it laid, nary a hinge near. Nary a thought given what the hanging meant  to the elder man.

This year, the door was hung.

Since that conversation, I’ve found myself thinking about doors – mostly in the quiet of night, as all lay still.

Doors open.

Doors close.

Will I open the door?

Will I walk through the door if I open it?

Doors can be laid against a wall, or set on saw-horses, waiting for the time to be hung.

The choice is personal.

Do I open the door or do I leave it closed?

Should I even hang the door or should I leave it dormant, leaning/laying?

If I hang it, will it be in the right place?

The choice is physical.

The choice is emotional.

The choice is spiritual, deeply rooted.

People throw doors open.

People slam doors shut – on purpose, accidently, in a rage or fit of anger.

Doors may never get opened for fear of what is on the other side.

Sometimes a door gets opened ever so slowly – just enough to peek inside or out.

Sometimes a door shuts quickly, because of what one sees, or doesn’t see

Some doors are weathered and worn.

Some doors are ornate, shiny and bejeweled.

Some doors are hollow cored.

Some doors are solid.

Some doors are light, while other doors are extremely heavy.

No two doors are ever the same, even if made be the same
mold.

Some doors open automatically.

Some doors take keys to open and are heavily locked.

Some doors have no keys, left always to be open.

Some doors take a round grip to open. Others have a lever, soon
to be the mandated law for ‘universal design’ in Europe.

Some doors open or close using a remote access.

You can open  a car door using your foot.

As I nod off, I muse:  “What kind of door am I?

“Am I a different door at different times?

Do I remain steadfastly hinged?

What kind of door am I with others? Am I open? Do I close carefully or purposely slam shut? Do I timidly let others peek through?

I wonder what types of doors I will encounter today (or especially in April in L.A.!)

Will icy fear stick my hand to the handle, even though I am smart  to the know, that a tongue sticks to a pole in a cold winter;  or will I fling wide open, as a gift long awaited for, or a surprise unknown, fresh spring air flying in to fill every crevasse in my being.

​Knock, knock! Who’s there?