I Love My House at Sunset, Part II

I'm renting my parents' weekend house from them, at an outrageously good price.  Sometimes, I feel a little conflicted about this.  For months, it felt as though I were living with my parents again (not a good feeling) and that they had just stepped out for a bit.  It doesn't feel like it's really mine, the way my old apartment did.  On the other hand, this house holds a lot of good memories for me--a lot of days spent playing board games because there's no TV reception; a lot of time roaming the empty lots next door (now filled with houses--the interlopers!) picking wildflowers; a lot of time sitting on the porch with the extended family, doing nothing but chat and listen to the crickets, and knowing, even at the time, that there was nothing better to do in the whole world. 

I grumble at the lack of storage, the deep cracks in the wood floor from a burst pipe a couple of years ago, and the sieve-like nature of the aged cedar exterior, which lets in bugs large and small.  However, I keep an alarm on my cell-phone set to 15 minutes before sunset, so I can go out each evening and fall in love with my house all over again. 

Once upon a time, this house sat on a cattle ranch.  The owner dammed up a stream to make a watering pond for his cattle.  Oddly enough, there were two ponds--a large one and a small one--with a road in between.  In wet months, the smaller pond overflowed into the larger through our yard, and in dry months it dried up and filled with interesting weeds.  This summer, the neighborhood association drained both ponds, dug the large one deeper, and used the dirt to fill in the small one to make a park.  It will almost certainly be too manicured for me, but see...someday, I want to be married between these two trees, at sunset, with the pond blazing pink behind me.

Just left of the picture above, they're building this pavilion:

And I want to have my first dance there, looking out on the starlit lake.