The Door

I've only ever written poetry and stories when I'm upset or feeling really down - never when I'm happy. The words just don't seem to flow as easily. This week I was having a fantastic day and a friend encouraged me to write. This is what I came up with.

I'm standing on a highway in the middle of nowhere alone. Wheat fields on either side of me. I'm standing on the yellow dotted line. Its summer but looks and feels like rain. As I look ahead down the road I see a door and a window but to get to it I need to trek up a hill. I start walking down the road, up the hill until I reach the door. I touch it. It feels warm. I reach for the doorknob and turn it slowly. The door opens and on the other side the sun is shining and the road continues. I take one step over the threshold...then another. I turn around, look back through the door, then close it gently. I start walking down the road. I can feel the sun on my face, there is music in my heart, my steps feel lighter. Almost like I want to dance.

I turn back and see the window. I go up to it and realize that I can look back at what I've left behind me, but the door is locked. I can't go back - only forward, but can always look back to remember where I have come from. But the future is before me. Its time to keep walking down that highway, following those little dotted lines to the next doorway.