I wish to remember the good old times in hope of more to come with photos taken by my friend who celebrates today. This post is also my contribution to the second Thursday Doors Writing Challenge: three door photos called my name and caught my eye and earned some words.
Today is the birthday of my friend M. who took all the photos below on his two visits in Tuscany in 2013 and 2014. There are not only doors and there’s more of me than usually, but I wish to revisit those times today. Look at the little bestia! Happy Thursday, birthday boy! The door stories continue below the gallery.
Photo: M. ZEDD
And now to Dan’s second Thursday Doors Writing Challenge which is open for another week, until the end of the month.
When I saw a certain photo on the blog by Nina Lewis in April, I just had to ask her to send it to Dan so that he could include it in the gallery of doors applicable for this challenge. It was this one:
And this is how the story goes:
The Chairstacker of Black Forest Schwarzwald, the cradle of the Danube, is more than just a moist cherry cake. It is a real place in Germany with a mystery. It is where the Chairstacker lives. It happens every night after the last screening in the local mini cinema. Nobody has ever laid eyes on him, or is it her. As soon as the last visitors exit the small old hall, the door bolts shut behind them. A hustle can be heard for a few minutes, and when the door opens again, by itself, all the green, mauve and teal chairs are stacked in a pile on one side of the room. Those who have seen it, report that to call the pile neat would be a bit of a stretch, even though it creates a sort of peace of mind. And a good dancing podium. Why two chairs remain by the door on the other side of the pile, rather than ending up with the rest of them, is a good question. As is the question of the importance of the door. In a way it appears to be in control. Why does it open by itself once the pile is done? And why is there a black cloth hanging from the middle peg on the said door? It feels crucial, in a way. What would happen if the cloth were to be moved either to the left or to the right peg? Would it anger the Chairstacker? Would it reset the world? When we finally make a call with a hope to get answers to some of these questions, the phone rings in vain. Once we reach the grocery shop next door, the proprietor is perplexed: “What are you talking about? What cinema? That little thing? The last time its door opened was when J. F. Kennedy was still alive. Nothing has been moved inside since the day he died. Why do you ask?”
After I wrote this story, I had a look through Dan’s door gallery again and just had to add two short poems to two other door photos.
The first one is of a pup, you see.
A mystery “I know you know a mystery and would tell it to me too, if only I sat down on the floor with you. I see myself down there already, rubbing you behind the ears, no matter that I have no idea how I’ll get up again. Cheers!”
And finally, here is the door photo that I just cannot pass without an expression of joy. It was taken and submitted by Kerfe (Memadtwo) who today posted a poem written to my door, the same that has already inspired Nope, Not Pam and Dan! Most excellent. Thank you, all!
I do This sight would uplift my spirits and keep them up for a week. A door with a flow and know how. A door that knows its colours and makes you wish to follow its patterns and lines, but you can not. This door is in front. It leads and all you can do is re joice and return and I do.
I have yet to read all your gathered door stories so please do not delete them! I’m just a little busy right now before I leave to Slovenia for the summer. Be well and enjoy the game tonight. (Yes, Luka and the Mavs are STILL playing.)