Standing before a plain old door,
worn beyond the ages,
You can feel the familiar warmth of home,
you can smell the familiar scent of baking pies.
Reaching out to open the Door,
Pausing with your hand
upon its dully glinting bronze handle,
You can feel the love crafted into its furnishing.
Upon opening the plain old rosewood door,
the warmth of love washes over your face,
relieving the tensions of an age long life.
Taking off your boots,
you can feel the worn oak floors,
smooth and comforting,
oiled by the centuries of passage.
Off to the left stands a plainly upholsterd chair.
Taking off your coat
you hang it on the back of the chair,
stopping to lightly carress
the coarse, oiled, hand-carved chair,
where so many have rested
after their long arduous Journey.
To the left of the chair,
sitting amongst a stone ring
stands a blackend iron stove.
Where a freshly baked pie
stays warm upon
the pitted and stained stovetop.
Walking towards the pie,
You see a large stained glass window
looking out over
an emerald sea of evergreens,
contoured to the windswept valley
full of brightly glowing vitality.
Taking a slice of pie,
and continuing on past,
you come across a bed,
plainly carved, made up
with sheets that are faded,
but inviting all the same.
In the northwest corner,
stands another door,
letting in a constant draft
of the cool mountain air,
richly sented with wildflowers
Full of the chatter of squirrels
punctured by the howling wolves.
Standing there, breathing deeply,
you relax and realize
that your Journey of Life has ended
with you back at home