There is a door in the woods that leads to nowhere.
In midwinter, needles of evergreens carpet the earth beneath. White snows sit upon the arch and ivy crawls upon ancient stone.
There are words in a language none can read carved into the doorway. Shadows pass by, with no one to cast them.
And there are voices, singing and laughing.
Some say if you listen closely, they foretell the future. Others say they tell of the distant past.
Perhaps there is no difference between the two, and only those beyond the door can see tomorrow flowing into yesterday.
Word Count: 99
This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Dale Rogerson for providing the prompt photo!