why didn't they consult me

This morning I was walking up my street to the Smith's, trying to like winter. It's that point in the year where I have to accept things as they are and realize that no matter how much I hate winter, it's around for at least three more months. Every year when the first heavy snow falls, I have to try to make myself happy--or at least marginally content. But as I was walking, it was clear that the people who live on my street were not trying to help my mood. First, there was the house that just went through a massive remodel. It used to be a simple house with an amazing garden. The house's gardens spilled onto the sidewalk, vines and flowers spreading everywhere. A lush canopy of trees hung overhead. In summer, walking past the house was always the coolest spot--for a few seconds, summer seemed irrelevant. Even in winter, the garden was beautiful, all of the plants transforming themselves, lovely under a dusting of snow. Now the garden is gone. The trees are still there, but there is no undergrowth, no over-abundance of growing things. If it were the same owner in the house, I would be hopeful that the garden would return. But I'm fairly sure it's new people altogether who appreciate a well-trimmed lawn (oh, and they built a fence accessed by a keycode). And then there was the distressed brick house. The brick on the house has always looked uncertain--red brick with old spatterings of pink paint, not quite scrubbed away by sandblasting. But it was wonderful, especially in the summer when the garden was full of poppies. Now, they are painting the house--brown. And not a rich, warm brown. No, it's a pale and mealy brown. Awful, really awful. I want to knock on the door and make sure they realize how awful the paint is, beg them not to continue.