The door to the house has lay open all day.
The windows sashes are parted and raised
to let in the fresh late summer air
as thunder rolls across the valley.
The neighbors, curious and kind,
have peered in,
surprised at the unexpected hospitality
they find gifts,
and savor the warmth.
Perfect strangers too, look in the doorway,
tentative at first, then with bold confidence
they enter the hallway, wander the rooms,
wearing their delight openly,
sharing their hearts, their drama, their tears
with me, an imperfect stranger.
But you, you stand at the street
fearful of what you will find here,
fearful of cobwebs and ghosts.
Certain the door waits to trap you inside,
you stand far, afraid to enter this house
that yearns not for neighbors or strangers,
but for you.
Can you not see?
The locks are on the inside,
and once in,
you can always let yourself out,
or stay forever, as you choose.
Come then. Come out of the storm.
Join me here.
Let us explore this mansion
and discover its delights
The poem is an older one, recently revisited and revised and finally finished. The picture is from Winterthur, taken last summer while on vacation with my children. You can click on it for a larger version.