Door in France. A doorway to what, to where? Doors hold a fascination for me, whether they are ornate or plain, large or small, a door is a door is a door.
This ornately painted door is just a delight, fit indeed for the chateau where it stays.
The lock itself like a jewel, perfect.
Now doesn't this chap look as if he is popping up behind the door, I love this. The original Doorman. "This is Carlton your friendly doorman", ah yes memory flash back to "Rhoda'" in the 1970s, showing my age.
Country doors. A door and a gate, belt and braces, nothing getting out or in of this house.
Aha, the Slitherin door (brace yourself for Prof Snape and that voice, hmmmmmmm.), a ghostly door in a chateau.
Street doorway in a seaside town. Worn and rugged, texture and so very tactile.
Amour doors, all old wicker and wood and faded cream paint. La style Francaise.
The chocolate bar door, like squares of chocolate to sweeten the tooth. Everything on this facade looks blocky, bricky and could so easily be made to nibble!
And the green door, there must always be a green door. What is behind the green door?
Doors and doorways. Now you see them, now you don't. There is one in here somewhere and it's not the fireplace route to Diagon Alley.
Doors, all over there are doors. They open up to other worlds and other places. They keep things and people out and keep things and people in. There is no need for a door to be a plain piece of wood or metal, it can take so many different forms, from the simple faded scratched paintwork in the old traditional farmhouse blue, to the hand painted delights of the aged chateau. It can have the quirkiness of a ghost to the formalised squares of a chocolate bar, good enough to eat.
Look at doors. Where do they go, what do they do?
Tell me about a door that means something to you.