Awnings create a cover of shade as the rays of morning sunlight bare down on its surface. Lights flicker around it at dusk in preparation for the illumination of red brick cultivated, shaped and produced from the clay of the local soil. Chipped paint peels under the hands of a child who stands at the toes of his parents waiting for entry. A patina of pale green and brown blankets a brass handle; much used, less protected.

Hands touch it. Feet kick it. It’s pushed, pulled, opened, closed, banged and otherwise mishandled. It protects us, offers safekeeping, a respite from heat, wind and rain. Behind it decisions are made, secrets are kept; life unfolds.

It has its own story; one that can enlighten and entrance. It sees all yet never speaks. It takes in life and lets it escape.

When one closes, another opens.

The old cliche may in fact have more relevance than simply a declaration of goodwill and encouragement.

If a person’s eyes are the window to their soul, could doors be the window to the soul of a town?

It’s been said that a town lives and breathes, grows and contracts, ages and in some cases fade away into the same dust that was once pressed to create and build it.

Town or city. Big, small, old, new, aging, burgeoning, shining, emerging, declining. Small towns have one appeal, cities another.

Stroll up and down main street. Let arms swing in carefree motions. Whistle a tune and move feet to a beat that fits; quaint or busy, loud or lively. Shuffle the contents of pocket and breath in the life radiated from the buildings passed.

What is seen? Color? Light? Panes? Pains?

Hidden behind the many doors are stories untold, lives unveiled. Imagine. Stare at a surface that cannot talk, yet speaks volumes.

Pick one. Stand within its reach. Extend a hand to the hilt and hold it for just a moment without even a single touch. Let an unknown saga unfold. Truths. Lies. Love. Mystery. History. Reality.

It’s what lies behind that matters most. The door is the aperture and will give or take, bear or constrict as needed.

The door. The window to the soul of a town.