The house kept us just warm enough as we walked the old wooden floors and looked out through the open doors. I balanced a perfect cup of tea on an old radiator behind the red wingbacked chair in front of the window. Abstract art dotted the walls and furniture. It was a perfect rainy Saturday and a sunny and sweet Sunday would follow.
I relaxed into the old space. It felt like home to me - solid and calm. A place of solace, in its old age and slight decay - authentic and real. It breathed the damp into its bones just as I did. Occasionally, I would be called out to walk beside the five sisters, the old redwoods planted just a bit too close to completely thrive, but oh how they survived anyway.
Everywhere you looked around the old house and grounds there were stories of perseverance and hope. An ideal setting to show and share art.
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