N E Others believe in silence. The red door doesn't open. Others believe in watching, waiting for the water to flood. Winter withers and decays and the deluge arrives. Others sing a little ditty and dance the hokey-poky.
Water rushes the wall, the door.
The red door doesn't open. It holds back the flood. My shoulder stiffens. The silent ones, the observant ones, the entertaining ones come forward, come toward the door. I ask them nicely, very nicely not to open the door.