What stories can these doors tell?
Wandering past I stopped for a photograph, suitably choosing the camera's B&W mode to try and capture a little of the atmosphere, as I tried to picture the folk who may have opened new timbers to greet a visitor's knock.
Blonde curls over flushed cheeks, or jet black waves over thick rim spectacles, bearded gent or grey haired lady, with flour still upon her fingers, now drawn away from her toil on the kitchen table. A sniff of the Oak fire and the grunt of an animal from the adjacent quarters maybe; after all our sitting room used to house the cattle and still smelt like a stale dairy when we first moved into our old farmhouse.
Remembering the huge pile of empty cider bottles we found up over in the hayloft, I'm now wondering what dusty tales opening these doors may reveal, yet somehow the Brambles barring my way suggest the mystery should remain, and peering into the dark slit for a moment longer I'm soon making my way home in some urgency.
It's raining hard, I'm desperate for a wee, and the sound of rushing water is not helping one bit!
Plus I'm not sure if my little Fuji is waterproof or not.
Still, I managed a nice shot of a Forgotten Doorway and did not get too wet.