She is an old house with a granite facade, in need of repairs here and there, but still standing.
The Builder crafted her of the finest materials. Her interior, a warm blend of exotic woods–cherry, walnut, maple, oak–invites privileged visitors to stay a while, but not too long. Her inhabitants have a lot to do.
She overflows, like a kindergarten desk, papers sticking out willy-nilly, a house stuffed with words, drawing, ideas, books, an attic full of memories. Her inhabitants have tried to bring order to the chaos, but the universe within her walls keeps expanding, refusing the efforts of her most expert housekeepers.
The Gardener haphazardly planted her garden. She stands firmly rooted in that place as a lone bristle cone pine on a high mountain pass, surrounded by the fruits and flowers of the seeds that the gardener cast many years ago.
