A Door that Bangs

A dream in peeled paint, pink flowers flank the trestle door and sand gathers in the corners. This house encompasses the imaginings of anyone who has hoped to live where the ocean fills their hair and erodes the spokes of their children’s bikes.  The porch is guarded by a sleeping giant sprawled on a wicker chair, soft and floppy with tufts of white fur poking out from between the pads of its paws, which twitch in pursuit of an imagined rabbit.

 

This house, wears neglect well, like a kind of authenticity or a visual reminder that the owners are not weekenders from the city but people who would rather be at the beach than choosing curtains to match a bed spread from a warehouse of over priced domestic must-haves. Although the white washed walls are dirtied around the edges, they are set in foundations of solid gold. The land must be worth enough to make a real estate agent twitch at the sight of it and mentally plan the demise of the family home which occupies it in favor of a fright of glass and stone grey feature walls.

 

Never again will a young family afford to call this their own, watching their children grow to fill the wild back yard and feeling the sun work its way through the rooms warming every corner.