The doorway would appear to the adventurous heart, to one of pure soul, yet to all others it was only a tangle of roots.
The doorway was framed by nature, those sweet brown swirls of the grain giving that homely touch.
The doorway had taken some loving inspiration in its design, for it was not the standard rectangular shape, but the sort of archway that brought every eye upward.
The doorway was the same as every other in the block, straight with clean lines; yet it lead to my home, and in that was its specialness.
The doorway had been there for generations, yet mostly unregarded. In time there had been bookshelves placed before it, and only small parts were glimpsed in passing. Yet there came a day that sweet Emily opened it wide and stepped through into a long forgotten garden of divine enchantments.
Into the festive doorway, beneath the fresh-cleaned plinth, we wandered in anticipation of relaxing banter. For where else can we be and speak so free, that with those who love us so?