outside my window some leaves still shine deep green while others
yellow to crisp edges
like differing rooms living through seasons of this house
holding a room of restful freshness
and outdated rooms yet to be revisited with today's view
a room of gatherings present and past
decades of dents and scratches, musicians and boardgames
voices absorbed by the grain of the enduring oak table
stairs where I have fallen with my hands full
and stairs where we held hands to steady the climb upward
there is a room where floating memories lighten as dust sparkles
another where music lives among the dancing shadows
today wet paint will secret away stories of the many inhabitants
while I alone remember the layers underneath
a treasured gratitude for a life within safe walls
when the golden leaves fall this September
who might enter through my blue sky doorway?
© Ali Grimshaw 2025
Join a welcoming group of poets at dVerse Poets’ Pub HERE. This prompt was inspired by Albert Garcia’s poem “August Morning,”
This is not my house, but a blue door I photographed in France in 2019.
My house does have a blue door.
flashlight batteries - Ali Grimshaw 