The Emporium Door

In the hustle and bustle of passing through this door, I have never realized how blue it is. I love how the edge is worn bare by hands of locals and strangers. My favorite part is near the bottom, where one with full hands might prop the door open for her little ones with a winter boot, or where another in sandals might stop it for a passing stroller. This door suddenly seems so deserving of our attention, and seeing it- even here- I can smell the coffee and the fresh baked goods; I can hear the piano and the lively conversation.

Folks elsewhere claim the art of the conversation is dead, but I know better.

See Also:Xenia Ave. Love Song #2