there she waits.

There are many doors. Each door is different. The first is painted red, the colour of a barn. The next is yellow, the colour of a mustard. The third door is unfinished oak. There is a spot worn away by many years of banging. The handle is loose from so much prying. Beyond that door, the thickest and least inviting, there is a warm breeze. It is almost as if the guest enters the beach. The following door is a Dutch door; the top half is always open. Beyond that, there a screen, and then just a stone gate that leads to a garden. In the garden there is a swing and an oak tree standing tall. Rose vines trace the gate. In the garden there sits a woman on a rocking chair. Her hair is gold and her eyes hold secret sorrows. She appears worn out and ready, both at the same time.

Each door requires a different skeleton key. This makes it difficult. She likes to watch them try to search inside her words. Her words always give a clue to the next entrance. She never inteded to have so many riddles, it only just happened this way. if happened after gate was first built. Riddles make games among friends. They increase in difficulty as the door increase in width. The red door is almost immovable. Sometimes, from loneliness, she calls out the answer to the first riddle. Too many thick doors cancel the sound.

There she waits.