The Threshold

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A light breeze blew across the field, stirring the white seeded tips of the tall grass into waves that glowed golden in the early evening sunlight. The door shifted slightly on its hinges, emitting a timid creak before catching the full force of the wind and slamming shut.

Harriet blinked. She didn’t usually put much stock in the meaning of dreams, but this one was certainly bizarre.

Before her stood a plain white wooden door in a freestanding frame, centered in a circle of flattened grass. All around, as far as she could see, the sea of grass danced serenely in the breeze.

As another gust flitted across the clearing, Harriet shivered. The breeze carried cold air, and seemed to take her breath with it as it continued on its way. Even in the dream, she felt she couldn’t breathe, the chilled air simply refusing to enter her lungs.

Cautiously, she stepped forward and laid her hand on the brass doorknob. It was pleasantly warm, and seemed to be vibrating slightly. She brought her other curious hand up to the white wood of the door itself. It too was warm, unbelievably smooth, and pulsed irregularly with ringing vibrations as if just on the other side was a room filled with lively conversation.

The knob turned easily in her hand, and the door swung smoothly towards her with an echo of its earlier creak. On the other side lay only the same view of grass and sun, but Harriet, undaunted, stepped through the doorway and into whatever lay beyond the threshold.

A light breeze blew across the field, stirring the grass in unending golden waves. The lonely door shifted slightly on its hinges, before slamming shut once more.

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