First I recognise the door. There is no difference between this door and any of the others set into the dull grey stone building.
As high as I can see, none of the floors have any windows. The stone is far older than I remember it being from the night before.
There is a bronze plaque on the door, but its engraving has been rubbed out.
I can’t recall if I’ve ever read the sign, or know what it means.
Now it’s a mute symbol, as closed as the door I must go through.
A dog guards the door. No matter which direction I come from, the dog always sits on the top step and will not let me pass.
The dog is brown-black streaked, with a blank head and those eyes.
I cannot turn away. I need to get inside.
I’m not sure why the dog just sits there, watching me.
Maybe it is devoted to the postman, though I never see anyone go in or out, and the door has no letterbox.
Maybe the dog’s master is a bastard and makes it sit there in all weathers?
Sometimes I am convinced the dog is a stray, guarding only against me.
After all these years I still can’t decide whether it is a he or a she.
The door is always closed. And believe me, I’ve tried knocking.