Through the tall wooden door she leaves one realm and enters another, turning the nob, stepping into dawn’s light, streetlights yet lit, half-moon lingers.
The sun hovers above horizon, a mirage, holy light, appears with early morning dog walkers.
Icicles break free from rooftops, water drip drops off gutters. A Blue Jay calls, the Woodpecker knocks.
Through this gentle morning light she walks.
Returning changed, she glances up, noticing how two great support beams intersect, a cross hovering over her.
As hyssop once painted blood on tops and sides of doorframes, a sun-drenched splash of rainbow washes the wood. Christ’s own blood washes her.