The Blue Door

a blue door

She became ours one awful night.  But we had seen Her before.  My sister Sara and I were out looking for our dog who liked to wander the neighborhood or chase gulls on the beach.  We found him down the street at Mr. and Mrs. Vandermeers’ old house.  The Vandemeers had moved a while ago to be near their grandchildren and now the house stood empty.  From the street, the house was plain.  A door.  A window.  And a perfectly straight walk.  Left unattended, the sand completely took over the walk and was creeping up to the front door.  It looked like the beach was swallowing the house and, left any longer, would become just another piece of driftwood sticking up out of the dunes.

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