What Lies Beyond

I'm intrigued by doors, or rather what lies beyond them. Battered and weather-beaten or freshly painted, they're all portals to a different world. Barn doors, shed doors, doors of well-kept houses or abandoned fishing stages; give me a door to photograph and I'm happy. I don't need to open the door and investigate what's on the other side -- in fact, the mystery is far more attractive than that knowledge would be.

I like those doors best when they're closed, because a closed door allows the imagination to create a separate world, forever unexplored. It holds the promise of things new and different and implies secrets that can't be guessed at. Windows are fine for looking through, for letting the sun flood in, for flinging open to catch a gentle spring breeze that carries the scent of wildflowers and salt water. Doors, on the other hand, are better for defining limits and creating boundaries -- for keeping the cat in and the dog out, or vice versa. What is beyond the door is not unapproachable or unattainable, instead, the closed door embodies endless potential for discovery and enlightenment.

I can't imagine how boring the world would be if all the doors were open.