It was a mild weekend. Everyone was putting up lights, decorations.
I love these bows on a neighbour’s fence. Makes the house look like a big present.Print
My sister and her family live south of Hamilton. One day, years ago, we got off the highway too early and found ourselves driving through a community of gingerbread houses, colourfully painted, crammed together on quiet tiny streets.
It used to be a Methodist summer church camp.
Over the last few decades, they have been restored (falling to disrepair before that). Now they are full time homes, right on the lake.
Imagine us driving through an old regular suburb and finding these homes, set off to one side, travel at 20 kmh if you want to look.
They look good enough to eat. My brother in law says they aren’t really big.
I love them. The green one below is my favourite. That’s the colour of my door where we live.Print
I knew we had to get the driveway re-sealed eventually. We were one of the last strongholds on our street. Then our neighbours had theirs done. Our turn.
My dream is to have a driveway of stones, small stones so you can hear crunching as the car approaches. Our pathway to the door has bigger stones and I love the sound of people’s footsteps as they arrive.
My husband says that is impractical.
It is black and shiny. I will admit that now, when the kids chalk on the surface, the colours resonate, vibrate, explode.
I walk my daughter to dance and then take the scenic route back home.
There is a house for sale on a quiet street. I stop and look at the long windy driveway, the trees that surround it, the peacefulness. It reminds me of houses from my neighbourhood when I was six, big front window, ranch style, set back from the street.
There is a running creek nearby. The sun is warm.
I wonder why they are leaving. Seems pretty perfect to me.Print