This old house, which was at one time a B-and-B (or at least tried to be), is on the route I sometimes take to the park. I call her the Bad Sister, because she reminds me of my own house, to which I am partial even though my own house probably needs more work even than this old dame.
When I really look at it, though, the house strikes me as such a likely playground for kids. Not the kind of kids you see today, with their screen-parallel faces all sickly-aglow, but the kind of kids I remember us being: clothes dusty, hair all sweaty, faces aglow from the heat and chasing one another down the street at dusk. Just look at that porch! Even on the rainiest day, the Bad Sister would give us a way to play outdoors.
Summer is coming.
