Part 1. The estate agency was situated on a quaint cobbled street in a picturesque part of the village. Opposite was the ancient Place de la Halle, which from mediaeval times had housed the weekly market. Today not being the market day, it was filled with school children running and shouting through the pillars and orioles. We stared down the cobbled alleyway in amazement. It really was a wondrous sight. Everywhere were many-storied ancient houses, each one a photographer’s dream, their many windows edged with the colourful cornflower-blue volets of the region. We peered into the window of a private art gallery and were spellbound by the pot pourri of artists’ easels. Everywhere were examples of vivid impressionist landscapes, with their bright splotches and melange of shades, flowers and cornfields. In one corner there was one painting reminding us of a famous Pissarro. With one broad brushstroke it successfully depicted a hushed Sunday afternoon, all verdant vines, crumbling sun-baked masonry and a vision of the future catching the last fading glow of summer’s elusive light.
We walked back to the agency’s window and glanced at the colourful property cards pinned in the window. So many glorious stone houses were for sale, complete with swimming pools, all pictured under navy blue skies. Ah yes; this was what we wanted. We pushed open the door and walked confidently in.
..................To be continued next week
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment