Beauty In All Things

The first thing I remember is...Red, deep as the farthest reach of space, as warm as the sun. Oak as smooth as silk, for you see the wood had been sanded almost lovingly as if the craftsman wanted nothing more in his entire life than to sand all imperfections from the face of his final masterpiece.

It was so smooth I couldn't help but feel the urge to press my face to the red oak door, leaning in slightly I felt the tender caress of the warm wood. In this lighting with my eyes so close I could see clearly the many brush strokes along the door, hand-painted this was truly a dedicated artist. Pressing both hands to the door I could feel it tremble gently the oak warming my hands, taking a deep inhale I caught notes of paint thinner, earth, and ... Smoke.

I released my breath with a huff and slowly took a few steps back, with this larger view I saw the thick black smoke seeping through the crack under the door. The creaking of the old metal hinges almost sounded like a soft chello, if only they weren't drowned out by the now angry-sounding trembling of the oak door. I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of pity for the artist who crafted the poor thing, The door I had largely ignored for the time that I lived in the old building. All my renovations over the past year were burning downstairs and now even this door... the door my husband had made such a fuss over, the door that had been the only thing I couldn't convince him to get rid of, the door that was keeping me alive right now.

The door that was starting to show burn marks instead of beautiful brush strokes. I couldn't help but laugh, I was going to replace it with the same color black; I guess I got what I wanted in the end. A black door instead of the green one in my bedroom.

Right, I remember, my door was never red... until the day I woke up and the handle was.