Riparian

The house sat low on the riverbank, as if for years it had been trying to sneak up on the rushing waters but as of yet had found its chance. Brick red paint peeled off from every board, and the white trim had faded like an old woman's handkerchief. Still, Samantha thought it had retained a bit of its original charm, part of the quaint magic that had enchanted her as a child. And now, thirty years later, it finally belonged to her in deed and title, though it always had been hers in spirit.