Sometimes it’s hard to find openings, ways to get in and get out.
Not all doors look like doors—heavy wooden slabs with handles to turn or pull to open and close. And they are not all found on traditional structures like houses and office buildings.
Sometimes the walls that hold you out are made of reeds growing along the shore,
and frame your view of the world. You are bound by your idea of wall instead of freed by the open door.
Other doors aren’t doors at all, they are signs warning you of the rules, enter at your own risk,
marking boundaries of beginning and ends.
Some doors are small, requiring you to duck low, risk the muck and slime
as you get a glimpse at the light on the other side.
Some doors are bridges to go over or under or through, marking sides, taking sides, allowing access to both sides.
There are doors on platforms, high enough to see above the fray, watchtowers of protection,
hope, and possibility.
Doors can be wide angles, opening to vistas
But you have to find them, recognize them
ways in and ways out.