The screen door is the most thrilling border I have ever crossed, and I have crossed three. You approach, and the air smells different. Grass. Distant dog. A bird that thinks it is safe.
The officer on duty, a grumpy old tabby named Mr. Hobbs, asks for your papers. You do not have any. He lets you through anyway, because he is tired and also because he enjoys watching you bump the mesh with your nose.
Beyond the door, the patio opens up like a different continent. Gold light. Warm stone. The kind of warm stone that makes you rethink everything. I stayed six hours. I did not take a single photo. It was perfect.
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