By the door was a woven mat, fashioned from rustic strings, enriched with the mud of thousands of boots - a testimony to the life that dwelled in the house. Natalie smiled as if she could hear the laughter of the children as they returned with new memories of the woodland, infused with the sound of the streams so full after rain. The door mat could have been replaced years ago, its edges were frayed and curled, but it was still here. Sebastian had had the floor polished, the curtains made anew and the walls painted... yet still it remained, giving treasured mind-photographs, the best kind of life-nostalgia.
The doormat was pristine, as if the indignity of a dirty shoe had never been placed upon it. It was a woven green, the kind of green that feels homely, like sage leaves. Pam hesitated, allowing her eyes to scan the room for clues of what to do.