The property was an enigma. Torn screens in second floor windows flapped in the breeze. A rain gutter, fallen from the roof eave, lay entangled in a sagging chain link fence. Clapboards showed bare wood beneath faded and flaking paint.
Yet the garden filling the front and side yards was immaculate. Carefully pruned rose bushes grew between nurtured clumps of white and purple wildflowers. Evergreens were pruned into twisting spirals and crepe myrtle bloomed in pinks and blues.
Flagstones formed a twisting walk to the sagging front porch. Not a single weed grew in the mulch between stones. Yet the steps to which these stones led were a splintered and broken mess.
How was it, I wondered, that such beauty should flourish in front of so neglected a house?
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