The Door holds a certain light. Like dust motes in the evening sunlight, it has that same faded, golden glow of magic. Nine shaded panels of glass gives it a feeling of being able to see what lies beyond that Door clearly, but all it permits you to see is the mysterious and shadowed shapes of a world beyond ours.
Sometimes you may see the green light of the sun through spring leaves, or a blinding flash of white and the angry rumble of a thunderstorm. The brilliant colors of a rainbow have shown through, and the sound of great battles being fought. You hear the whine of a dog as it presses its nose to one of the panels, fogging the glass with its breath. The screaming roar of a dragon in flight has passed through that Door, and the peaceful silent glimpse of an empty garden. I’ve seen black-cloaked figures bearing a coffin, and the glitter of a golden crown as it was set upon a young head. Solemn Elves by candlelight, and crystal waters ripple as a mermaid leapt to the surface. And once, the moonlit shadow of a white horse with a silver horn.
The mystery, beauty, and power of that world always has me getting up from my chair and walking over to that Door. Always has me trying the intricately carved silver handle, and I always find it locked to me. Barring my way to a land that only a few have ever ventured into and truly been a part of. One day, I will get up as I always do and walk over to the Door. And I will turn that handle at last. I will become a part of that world, that world that will always remain so elusive, and so beautiful. Until that day, I will write of it. I will write about the lives I have seen, and the things I have heard. To share with those who also long to have my kitchen Door.