The visual cacophony that was the exterior of the house has now been softened.
It has, in the crisp silent air of an approaching winter, been hushed into a tranquil symphony of analogous pieces.... this newly christened gestalt...this humble collection of yellow splendor.... this vibrant hamlet that, as I stand at the crossroads of the driveway and my destiny, makes my soul sing with an empowered echo like the mountainous canary that shares its vibrant amarillo coloring with my house... our house... the house that love built.
one band, one sound.
The completion of the exterior painting has reinvigorated this small swath of land. It has, in my modest opinion, definitively and resolutely cemented old and new, past and present, hope and truth.
There is strength left in this now fifteen-month odyssey… there is a song that even now, sings fiercely and shakes leaves from trees… shakes bitterness from passersby.
Alas…
There is work yet to be done. There are nails that have not yet been met with thunderous hammer. There are tiles that have not been bathed in shower rain. There are cherry stained timbers that await their introduction to the streetscape. There is work yet to be done.
Yet in the soft calm of an emerging winter, when the sun takes second chair to the white sky, there is now… and hence forward… a beacon.
Thank you for believing.