INTOXICATING

I have walked far today, roaming this place where I live, with nothing more than my feet, amongst the people living here. My back became sweaty, and tired, and my feet weary. I looked about, as I do, as it seems I do alone, and chanced upon a magnificent doorway, standing out from its neighbours. Nearby all doors were functional, made for security, not for welcome. In this place, all businesses are conducted indoors, on the streets there is none. The doorways admit those with business within, they do not linger at them, as if ashamed. Hundereds of people pass by, and through this door, yet of all only I noticed it, not resident of the street, nor of the building. A simple group of pots, placed outside the door atop the step held plants, colourful and in flower. The pots were simple, round and plain, but sturdy, and reassuring in sight. That amongst this hubbub, a person has taken time to provide this welcome for the eyes, I found intoxicating, welling in my throat. I delayed my business for a moment to consider, and form an image of the sight in my memory, for to shoot and capture it with my camera would be an injustivce. Even now its memory is whole within me, intoxicating still, as this cool beer, and sight of a fine sunset from my windows.