They added stone lions on either side of the driveway and paved over the pit. Ladders went up.

The girl started taking side streets when errands brought her through the old neighborhood. The blue house, hers, existed now in thought. She liked it that way. Thoughts were durable. Thoughts were shelter. Thoughts were pure.

The house in her mind would have winter on the roof, cardinals in the naked trees, and cedar logs in the fireplace. The house in her mind would have chocolate chip waffles and carpet where carpet didn’t belong. The house in her mind would go unmolested by new aesthetics, squabbling elements, and fallen telephone poles. Nothing would touch it but her enfleebling over time, which she hoped would happen in a house of her own. Not the same, sadly, but blue. That’s the thing with possessions. It’s not about making them. It’s about keeping them if you can.