My image was a door floating in space. I recognized this door from one that I have seen from the Coyote Cantina. Across the street, bathed in the richness of New Mexico sunset, is a second floor door. It is merely there, without balcony, without stairs, simply a door in the wall. I've speculated about that door and what it's for, about the balcony that used to be there, or the stairs that used to climb to that door, or maybe that it was always a spirit door for the shifting shadows to enter. I remember its blue frame set against the deep rich browns of Santa Fe adobe. The door hangs in the air at the crossroads where humans meet and greet, enter and leave, find sacred space and depart from that space.