Door Language

I ended my last post with the words “answering the door.” What an odd phrase. Doors do not speak. People knock on my door, so perhaps that is a poetic description of door speak. And knocks do vary. I have learned the language of my door. When the door vibrates from hard pounding knocks, I translate the sound to mean something like: “You idiot, why do you keep locking me out when you know I am working in the garden?” If I ignore my knocked door when it speaks to me, it will keep talking with more knocks. That knock lingo is saying to me: “I know you are in there, I heard you moving around. I am a door to door salesman ready to sell you something you do not need.” Sometimes I catch the doors at my house singing, “Light my Fire.” I try to keep our doors closed but the other residents leave them open to heat the neighborhood as their contribution to global warming. So the horses escape by the time I bolt the doors. Our front door is a male. We used to call him by his generic name Doorman but eventually he earned a real name, Matt, and answers to Doormat. I have more space left but I need to slam this door right now.

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