The Cathedral Forest Entrance

The damp air smells of pine sap and old dust. I stand where the stone floor shifts to loam, the ribbed vaulting of the cathedral dissolving into hanging moss and root. My hand brushes the edge of a green enamel cup set on a stone ledge; the cup is weightless. A door opens, revealing only the frame of another door, painted slate blue. Inside the second frame, the wallpaper is yellow and patterned with tiny, repeating anchors. I lift the photograph from my pocket. The image is faded, the edges soft, and I see the outline of my shoulder in the crowd of people laughing. The light here is flat, a temperature that warms the back of the neck. I smell the ocean salt, though I am deep inland. The other door stands open, facing only a curtain of thick, wet vines.