time's march

This faded door always catches my eye when I pass it. Today, walking home from work the gates that surround it were open so I could sneak in and get a clean shot. What is it about a sense of faded glory that entices?
There seems something magical to it, in my mind, no matter how peeled and shabby and overgrown it has become. Is it the sense of time that is so clearly written on it?
It is old, unloved yet adorned with a funky blue padlock. The whole wall tells of time's march. It is a tombstone to itself. It describes the hard law of order journeying to disorder.
This wall, with its door depicts such a decline. And we recognise it, maybe feel a sense of the beauty in this little piece of decay amid a thriving town. For there is no birth without death, no lotus without mud. The very disorder and abandonment we see here lies at the heart of order and progress.
So the Universe dances right before my eyes, painting this picture of time and beauty and the very real sense that time is all we have. This time of our lives.