A sharp knock on the door
jolted me out of my reverie. We live far enough off the beaten path
that nobody up here bothers to install a doorbell, and it’s relatively
rare for a knock to be anyone other than the mail carrier, or a neighbor.
The heavy, two inch thick, oak door groaned on ancient hinges as it
opened onto a fashionably dressed young woman in her mid-30’s
– high heels tottering dangerously on the uneven granite slab
which serves as a threshold. Our house is built of cordwood, stacked
over a course of masonry. The walls stand 22 inches thick, and the front
door, with a lancet arch at the top, was scavenged from a Greek Orthodox
Church in Montreal. Admittedly, the whole structure looks a bit like
something out of “The Hobbit”. I swung the door wide, and
encouraged her to watch her step as she came in.
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