A Door with randomness

It is simple enough: place your hand on the handle and turn, while simultaneously pushing or pulling, depending on the architectural setup. Maybe it isn't so simple. Maybe the difficulty lies in the moment before the reach, before the turn, and before the push/pull.

I am always fascinated by doors. They come in a variety of flavors that would put Baskin-Robbins to shame. A door can be simple, elaborate, small, large, light, heavy, made from different materials of wood, metal, paper, or glass; but no matter the flavor, the purpose remains the same: separation.

A door provides entry and exit, and a path to and from. (Please forgive me, my thoughts have become convoluted. "The switch is on the wrong side.") To and from what? (instigating my own thought). Precisely, I say. Only a few can speak of the things the door has separated from us. But it is quite the predicament to find out what lay on the other side. Shall we submit to fear in those moments and hesitate, only to turn away? Or shall we be courageous, genius even?

I have often thought in these terms, and considered the notion of a door not seen- though I imagined it to be green with six inlaid panels- sitting in the middle of your yard, connecting the world with the water, a sort of pathway, bearing in mind Plato's philosophy of Forms. The door lies in the middle of your yard, unlocked, waiting for you to enter, waiting to expose the wonders it conceals. (then I say) Is it yours? mine? or communal? I suppose it depends on whether you share your findings.

Randomness:
I do enjoy vails, and smoke, and the obscurity of thought.

The snow inches up the birch in pursuit
the birch leans, from the burden, over
the creek, over the idle fountain, and peels
under the mounting pressure, revealing
the softer side.

O sweet irony! the bitter taste
of swords and shields beaten back
by servants in far off places
run away with the masters' power.

The robin eyed me from a distance
standing on the foot of snow below the
crabtree-he expected the bloom
"Why so early?" I pondered
"I'm not early. I missed my flight."