Eighteen doors. Four atop six on top of eight. Their hues ran the gamut of the rainbow, with like colors clustered together within each layer. The bottom eight doors shifted from navy to indigo to cerulean; the middle six ranged from forest to emerald to lime; with the top four a mix of sunflower to apricot to blood.

This tower of doors had appeared in a busy square. Suddenly, where nothing had stood – gleaming in the afternoon sunlight like a rainbow invitation.

Many of us gathered around the mysterious tower, hands shading eyes, chins tilted back. Creaks and clicks sounded as various doors opened and closed on their own, as if invisible people walked through, even the ones at the top which opened into thin air. Within, we glimpsed swirls of colors that matched their respective doors.

Intrigued, I stepped forward. “I’ll go in one.”

A young man also stepped up. “Me too.” He glanced about, as if expecting objection. Everyone else shrank back.

I chose a door from the bottom set. So did the man. The others looked too difficult to reach without a ladder. He and I braced and opened our doors. Mine revealed turquoise and teal, and as I stepped through, the scent of salt filled my nose. I couldn’t help closing my eyes as hues and smells crashed over me.

A roar sounded nearby. Warmth caressed my face and soft sand tickled my fingers where I lay. When I opened my eyes and sat up, I found myself at the sea. No sign of the other guy.

This stretch of shore seemed familiar. I realized then that the doors were portals and mine had sent me to the ocean, almost a week’s journey away. With a sigh, I flopped back down, resigned to catching up later.

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Bring the Wanderer Home

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