Dawn Berkoski

Have you ever experienced a sense of resonance with a new place? A gut instinct that you are exactly where you should be?

That’s how I felt in the narrow streets of Guimeares, moving forward with sure steps.

Hearts hung above me, strung over alleyways, a symbol of love and courage for a romantic like me. And suddenly I was in Largo da Oliveira, the medieval square with a a centuries old olive tree and a Gothic shrine that looks like a gateway from a sci-fi movie.

This was the birthplace of Portugal, and a new chapter for me, who had been struggling with grief. At one end of the square was the towering, Igreja de Nossa Senhora da Oliveira, Our Lady of the Olive Tree. I couldn’t help but notice the color of the doors. Green.

I thought back on all the places green doors had popped up on my travels through Northern Portugal. It was at that moment that I saw the doors differently.

“This is the way,” they seemed to say. “It’s time to step out of the past. It’s time to begin anew.”

And I wanted to. I wanted to let go. I wanted to be happy.

But it wasn’t all smooth sailing. This was a time of learning, of floundering to get my feet. The ultimate frustration for a writer is not having the right words, and as I stepped into shops and spoke with the locals, I fumbled with my poor level of Portuguese. My sure steps turned wobbly as I embraced what could be.

A ship without a rudder at the mercy of the winds. That was me. I wandered. I got lost. I had to retrace my steps. But I wasn’t worried or scared, because everywhere I walked, green doors appeared.

And a wordless tune came to my lips.

Dawn B~