By the next morning, Josh had launched his counterattack.
A smoky haze drifted through my window. Outside, his yard was filled with hanging lanterns and smoldering bundles of sage. “Cleansing negative energy,” he explained.
“You’re fumigating the entire street,” I coughed.
“The wind’s on my side,” he said with a grin.
I wasn’t about to back down. By lunchtime, ten new gnomes had joined my garden. They lined the edge of my lawn, facing his with quiet defiance—each one painted a little brighter, a little bolder.
Josh’s reaction was immediate. A coffee mug slipped from his hand and shattered on his porch.
But the celebration didn’t last long.
By midafternoon, a clipboard-carrying HOA inspector was walking my yard, citing one violation after another—gnomes, wind chimes, even the color of my porch. Josh, unsurprisingly, watched it all unfold with a suspiciously satisfied smile.
That evening, I moved the gnomes to the backyard. Quietly. Disheartened.
The next morning, as I climbed a ladder to repaint the porch, someone approached. It was Josh, holding a can of paint and two brushes.
“White Cedar Mist,” he said softly. “It’ll match your shutters.”
I raised an eyebrow. “No sage today?”
He looked down, voice low. “I’m sorry, Mary. I took things too far. I didn’t mean for you to get in trouble.”
I nodded slowly. “You’re doing the trim.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough.”
We painted in silence. It was the first time we shared something other than sarcasm or frustration. As the sun dipped below the rooftops, Josh spoke again.
“I lost my wife two years ago,” he said. “The quiet gets hard.”
I looked at the gnome in my hands. “They made things feel light again. Like joy was still allowed.”
Josh gave a small smile. “Maybe they’re not bad luck. Just… unusual.”
That evening, I brought my first gnome back to the front yard.
“Mind if he returns?” I asked.
Josh nodded. “Let’s give it a try. I’ll bring the coffee next time misfortune visits.”
We placed the gnome together under the roses.
“Dinner?” Josh asked. “You can tell me which one is the most magical.”
“Only if you promise to leave the sage in the cupboard.”
“Deal.”
The gnome’s smile looked a little warmer that evening—like he knew his mission was complete. Peace had been restored, not through defeat, but through humor, compassion, and a fresh coat of paint.
Sometimes, it takes a quirky rivalry and a ceramic statue to turn neighbors into friends—and remind us that even the smallest gestures can change everything.