Doors

DoorsI have this thing with taking pictures of doors and windows.

There is something so alluring about the unknown behind a beautiful door or window.

What decor lies behind those lace frilled curtains?

Who are the people behind the potted flowers flanking that scarlet door?

How does the home speak of those who dwell within?

People can hold similar mystery.

What stories lie behind the sweet white haired lady who greets with a hug…

Who was she as a child,

a woman in her twenties,

thirties…

The gentle self sacrificing man who cleans, hauls trash, washes the dishes

What was his upbringing like?

Does he regret the life he leads?

Who notices the daily chores he completes without complaint?

The soft chocolate eyes, red lips, and smooth skin of a child

What do they see?

How do they perceive the world around them?

What will they grow up to be?

Then the questions turn—

What is behind the reflection?

Who am I and who do people think I am?

Smiling

I close my eyes

Nod my head in remembrance

What others see, think, feel about me is not as important as the truth

“Lord, who do You see when looking into this soul?”

I let out my breath…and the answer whispers

“My child…that is what I see…my daughter”

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