The Door

I see a whitewashed salt box house with a lush, green yard. The grass is short, though it is short naturally, no one has mowed it recently.

There is a small, similarly whitewashed shed just a yard in front of the house, not quite blocking the view of the house's door.

The door is more faded than the house, as if it has weathered many more seasons the house. Its knob, once gleaming and golden, is now tarnished and fights back when turned -though no one has turned it for a time.

It is a sunny day, the light shines down upon the houses just slightly from the West, creating shadows from both the house and shed, causing a stream of brilliant illumination in between the two structures.

The green blades of grass bask in the glorious, but undeserved sunshine. The door quietly sits, accepting its place and at peace with its humbler appearance, but much more important purpose.

Enjoying the shade.