This utterly enchanting Edwardian on a gloriously leafy Capitol Hill Street is as bewitching as a Anne Rice novel--move in today and start the seance tonight!
Sing it! Who do that voodoo that you do to me....
(Oh to write the real estate brochure for this house, which is one of the things I do when I'm not blogging).
Taking this place to task almost --almost--makes me feel mean (also a little scared). Clearly there's been great thought in its creation. Expense, too.
And the labor involved in keeping all of the white rocks and statuary clean (pristine, if I revert to real estate mode). Surrounded by bushes and shaded by deciduous trees, maintenance must be a constant task.The smooth glass bits arrayed as an offering to the lovebirds must themselves require constant buffing. They also stud the rock bed, glittering in sea colors. Turquoise. Green.
Contemplate, for an instant, getting the smutz out of the cherub's fat folds.
How could you even walk in there to clean without leaving a dingy trail?
At any season of the year the splendors of this garden can be witnessed. Here we are in summer mode, rocks like bleached bones in a New Orleans graveyard. Remind me to post the Halloween version. Christmas, as would be expected, is entirely over the top. So many times have I passed by and marveled.
And I've never seen a soul go in. Or out.
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