Sunday, May 30, 2010

Th is for threshold

(1. the entrance to a house or building  
2. any place or point of entering or beginning
3. [Psych./Physiol.] the point at which
a stimulus becomes perceptible or is of
sufficient intensity to produce an effect)

Our doorways

The porch encourages
button-pushing. The glass panel
through which I can spy on you
is covered with a purple curtain.
South-westerlies make it
no shelter from winter's wet.

Narrow, our exit to garage.
And stubbornly dysfunctional
the previously lockable sliding flywire
companion to glass. We have given up
on it, thus must bring the rolling door
down every time we drive out.

Our pride, the back door section
with which we replaced windows.
The garden and clothes hoist accessible,
the covered patio of cream bricks dry
radiating warm remembrance of our new
lifestyle Christmasses with barbecue.

The laundry door leads  to a deck
recently saved from overgrowth
too slippery this wet season to walk on.
Its roofing not waterproof, it is useful only
for bucketed water storage. However
the ferns do love their refuge, grow huge.

Every window (and all are large) lights upon
a garden, mostly grown wild. Outside my
workroom window, fronds clap at each wind squall
tap at the glass as if to say, Come on out! It's fresh here!
Warm indoors I reply:  What's a little glass
between friends? Who needs a door?

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