One day at my cousin's home, I caught sight of her door.
The doorknob, the lace, and the talisman hanging, swinging as the door was opened and then closed, all day long. An older house.
I tried to imagine the moment at a time in the past, when someone chose this floral doorknob, knowing it was just right for passage from the small soothing kitchen to the screened porch, perfect for sitting out, come dawn or dusk, as the world walked and drove and passed on by.
What a lifetime, a door with its handle, now graced with intricate lace, and a small token with which to bide its time.
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