Around the corner, hidden away in the dark recesses of the hall, lay a small wooden door. It
had weathered many storms, its rough
wood knotted with age. The iron bolts
were corroded, and the stone entrance
way was worn, cold, and uninviting. The
door had a harsh, unforgiving feeling
lingering in the air around it, as if what
lay on the other side was not meant to be
seen. The door had served many masters
faithfully, standing strong against the
test of time. Howev- er, it was now tired.
Its hinges were rusty, and its wooden slats,
once mighty, were distressed and filled
with divots. The door no longer wanted to
protect, it wanted to rest. Thus, when I
pushed on it, it let me in, exposing the secrets held inside.