The Old Wooden Door

In my eye sight is an old wooden door on dusty, grey steps. The forest is like it was painted a long, long time ago. Birds are chirping high up in the branches of the trees. I imagine inside the old door is a whole new world. Inside the whole new world I think there will be a field of butterflies fluttering around. A shimmering star will be shining in the day and night and not be the sun.