gilt · 1882 · entrance hall
tall, narrow, the frame heavy enough that the wall behind it sags by a fraction of an inch. it was hung the year the house was finished, by a workman who is mentioned by name in the household ledger and nowhere else. the gilt is worn at one upper corner where, for a generation, a hand reached up to steady it before closing the front door.
it reflects the length of the hallway, the umbrella stand, the lamp burning low on the side table, and the faint inward swing of the door each time someone comes in from the garden walk. on still afternoons it reflects nothing in particular, which is in itself a kind of subject.
the last person to look into it each day is the one who turns out the lamp. they do not look on purpose. they catch their own face in the glass between two motions, and they nod, and they go up.
field-note a hall mirror is not for vanity. it is for the small adjustment one makes before becoming, again, a person who can be seen.