Front Door

My front door doesn't look like my front door anymore.
Why? Is it the snow? I don't know. I don't know.
There's been a color change, like someone painted it in the night.
Has it always been dark wood? I thought so, but now I'm unsure.
It's the simplest thing, the entering point for everything else.
It should be easy--this is where I go. But
instead I look back. Then again. Did I pass my building?
Is this, in fact, where I belong? Walking in
to this door that doesn't look like my front door anymore.