I've passed the white house a thousand times. Never have I ignored it. It seems to call on me. Its long chalk-white walls are interrupted only by green-stained windows. The walls look thick and protective. Its anonymous appearance lends it an even stronger identity. In winter, the white house blends in with its natural surroundings. It becomes an invisible fortress and my attraction to it grows even stronger. The leafless trees seem to be the only ones knowing what goes on inside.
