Thursday April 17, 2008
The viewer came on time yesterday, loved the house and would have bought it if she’d sold her own place. Graham took the viewing and told her that any future interest would have to be through the new agent.
The new agent delivered the ‘draft’ copies of the particulars for our approval. I put ‘draft’ in quotes because he’s done an excellent job, and taken some great photographs. I’d have been happy to just rubber stamp but Graham felt a couple of extra words were needed so I’ve passed them on via e-mail last night, and we’ll mail off the amended copy today.
So, we’re on our way once more. I felt increasingly that the old agent had navigated himself, and us, into dead water, with very little hope of recovery. The new guy seems to be on the ball.
April is romping along. Most days there’s a bit of stillness along with the sunshine and then you could kid yourself that summer has come. The trees are full of leaf. At night, though, the temperature plummets and it feels crisp and frosty. So far we’ve escaped the rain and sleet that’s been bothering other places.
It’s a strange time. The world is busying itself with Spring, and I seem fastened upon Autumn, using Spring and Summer as no more than a period for joy, wine and the charging of energy stores. Come Autumn, and the sere days of Winter, I hope to be in a different place, looking at a different town, gazing in another mirror, quietly.
And if I can’t speak about my love–
if I don’t talk about your hair, your lips, your eyes,
still your face that I keep within my heart,
the sound of your voice that I keep within my mind,
the days of September rising in my dreams,
give shape and colour to my words, my sentences,
whatever theme I touch, whatever thought I utter.