The house stood bold next to all the other colonial homes along the street. Smooth polished hardwood floors, crisp fresh white paint, and a smorgasbord of shutter coloring from pea green to pale blue to dark red to salmon. Every single porch adorned itself with at least one hanging pot. And that hanging pot of choice seemed to be a fern.
The air was quiet as I stepped upon the shiny steps so obviously cleaned daily. How does Sherry have such time? And I wonder how a medium's day unfolds after one does past life regression sessions as a way of making a living. Do they need to eat even? Like you and me? Or sleep for that matter? Oye ... such silly ponderings!