November 9/365 Mine

The large white house sat empty in the winter. Marcie and I dragged our sleds up the small hill to the top of the driveway, and with precision we steered between the trees. Later, when we tired of sledding, I would sit on the front steps and imagine owning such a fine place. It’s been for sale now for years, but still costs more than we can manage. Plus, seriously, who needs six bathrooms to clean? (The realtor’s description of the property overlooks the existence of the small pet cemetery; that seems a shame.)

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