The houses stood upon strong foundations, with bricks mortared together with loving hands.
The houses that had witnessed so many seasons were always wise enough to celebrate the sunny ones.
The houses hugged together, sharing walls and forming a row of storybook perfect rooftop peaks.
Upon that summer day the houses upon the hill were a pastel congregation of sweet hues, windows letting the fresh air flow in, doors opening to friends and kin.
The houses were such happy compatriots upon that bonny rolling land. In all their hues, in all brightnesses of sun or cleansing rains, they were a picture well worth the painting.
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