Dawn Berkoski

After spending time in Braga, I traveled Southeast towards the UNESCO World Heritage Site of Guimarães, a city that dates to the 9th century. There, I gazed up at the magnificent 12th century Guimarães Castle, a towering fort built on a bed of granite, and the birthplace of Portugal’s first King, Afonso Henriques.

The castle was mostly ruins. But I imagined what it looked like in its glory days, when it held out under several sieges. I imagined fighting atop the ramparts; the city spread below. I pictured the moat, which was long gone, keeping out invaders while archers fired through the slits in the sturdy walls.

Inside the castle, giant boulders remained, as well as some interesting markings. I followed the circles and arrows engraved on the floor, wondering what they meant. I was helplessly intrigued by the history and mystery of Portugal and this, it’s first capital.

And then I looked up.

“No way,” I murmured. Why was a green door in a nine-hundred-year-old castle? My pulse sped up as I thought about all the green doors that kept popping up wherever I went in Portugal. It was as if they were following me…

No, I was being fanciful. A writer with an overactive imagination, drawing connections on a whim. It was probably a popular door color, nothing unusual. But even though I tried to convince myself, my feet remained rooted. When does a coincidence stop being a coincidence?

I stared at that green door for several minutes before leaving the castle. I’d never been one for signs, even if they came nailed to a door. I decided to ignore it. I didn’t have much time.

Down the hill, I stopped at the simple church of São of Miguel do Castelo, a 13th century chapel said to be where Alfonso Henriques was baptized. and where ancient tombs are buried under the floorboards. I stood near death, but the image of that green door remained in my thoughts, unnerving me more.

Dawn B~