The house itself sits solemnly in its yard of silence, the paint neither peeling nor new; the windows neither streaked nor shiny; the shades partially drawn, neither concealing nor revealing. No car disturbs the asphalt on the driveway; no bicycle leans against the porch; the flag on the mailbox is not raised. It is impossible to tell who lives here, the size of the family, their background, history, aspirations, culture, social rank: only that they aspire to remain unobtrusive, discreet.
reading Cooking with Fernet Branca, by James Hamilton-Paterson, a contemporary P.G. Wodehouse
weather snow sun and some rain