A bruised reed He will not break, and smoking flax He will not quench…
This is the paragraph where I say something deeply esoteric about doors. I like taking pictures of doors. Nope! I never think about where they lead, or the opportunities they represent, or the wonderment of mysteries found behind the doors. If I did, the pictures would be of open doors, not closed doors. Nope! The closed doors are not metaphors for my life or yours. They are just doors.
Some of these doors have been seen here before, but some of them are new. And some of them do have special meaning for me. The burgundy door is of our home in Terrell. Yes, I painted it that way. Heidi and I like the “less-than-perfect” look it has. The new owner liked it as well.
The double doors with a balcony is from the place we stay in Tennessee on the Watauga River. We really like staying on the river.