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Lines like roads etch the stucco. our house’s face a roadmap of weather: rain, wind, sun, and today, this fog. Fog against the windows, in the eaves, sun just breaking through. We question whether to demolish and strip away the years, or patch and repair, leaving the history, and the roads traveled, as proud reminders of the lives lived. Who are we to decide the fate of a house, built by unknown hands, loved and neglected, loved again, and then left to ruin? My thought is to renew and restore, patch and paste, keeping the history of the house intact so the whispering cracks and crevices continue to speak.


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