-Carriage House-

A long, long time ago, the grandson of the man who gave his name to this town built a house for his horses and carriages. Now that it is my home, the troughs are home to plants. The remaining stall encloses my kitchen. And the horseshoes hanging from the ceiling are merely decorative, although they do produce a pretty sound when rung together.

I loathe the technical side of moving, but I can't resist the magic of a new living space, particularly a well-kept one with an original design.

No more third-floor garrets; I am living in a carriage house.