Next time you approach one, spare a thought for the door

Red door in a stone wall with tower in the background, Corfe Castle, UK

I do love a good Door – a door is complete in itself, and is also the entry to a new world. Every door has its own character and many bear the marks and scars of age and experience: wind-battered peeling paint, fire-burn marks, water-swollen wood, animal scratches and chew marks, furniture moving-day bumps, rusted hinges.

Doors give messages: a locked door denies entry, an open door spells out welcome, a door knocker invites visitors, a wreath celebrates an event or mourns a death in the household. A door creates expectation and sets the tone: a shiny door may indicate a tidy house, a cracked door a run-down house. They keep people in, or they keep people out, they defend people and their possessions against the elements, they hide secrets or provide entry. Sometimes they are solid and impenetrable, sometimes you can see right through them.

Some doors become friends: the back door of a friend’s house, and some doors become enemies: the locked door of a business you needed to get to before closing time. Some doors are famous, like the door of number 10 Downing St, and some ordinary. But doors in themselves are often forgotten once what lies beyond them has been reached. Next time you front up to one, spare a thought for the door: all it is, and all it has seen.

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Filed under A deliberate life, Aesthetically pleasing things

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