By Lindsey White
From the street looking up the long, steep driveway, you see a grey, contemporary form with windows. The house has a wood exterior that I helped my boyfriend paint with a spray gun and rollers a few years back, and there are some stubborn places that the grey paint has chipped away and the 1980’s brown paint is trying to crawl out. I like to think of the woodpecker holes and minor flaking paint spots as the flaws that make a house more approachable, less cold more lived in.
Inside the house are more geometric angles, from the vaulted ceilings to the sharp right angles of the design, lightly coated in colors of black, white and grey. There are few colors in the bones of the house, but the lives lived within the walls are overflowing with color. My family is my home, and they have the most brilliantly colored personalities that the color of the walls only makes their love and happiness shine brighter.
Beyond the walls, there are trees that mask the highway which leads me into the world, where, as long as my family is with me, I will be home no matter where I am.