Behind The Blue Door

Written in response to this delightful photo
by Brian Dodd at bushboys world, who
graciously allows me to share with you.
Here’s where the image took me.

Nobody in Toowoomba could agree on what lay behind the blue door.

Old Eloise, who walked her terrier past every other day, insisted it led to a room where a retired cartographer kept his maps …. thousands of them, rolled and stacked like a paper forest, charting coastlines that no longer existed and rivers that had changed their minds.

The schoolboys who cut through the lane believed it was a recording studio. Once, on a still winter morning, one of them swore he heard a guitar playing something slow and electric.

The new café owner two streets over had heard it used to be a reading room for a small, serious literary society that met by candlelight and argued about novels until midnight. She liked that version best.

But the door itself offered no clue, just that particular shade of blue …. not navy, not royal, something quieter and more deliberate …. and a single handle worn smooth by years of hands that knew exactly where they were going.

One morning, it stood slightly ajar.

Everyone who noticed it that day found a reason not to look.

Some doors, after all, are more intriguing when they are closed.

This is “Blue Electric Light” by Lenny Kravitz