He called to say he would come over just before lunch.
In Provence that can mean between 11 a.m. and 1 p.m. I did not wait and kept working, leaving my studio window open. He knocked at my front door just before noon. A tall man, friendly and relaxed. I walked ahead to show the house his company was to insure.
He noticed the three tatami mats used for the tea ceremony and told me he had just bought futon for his children via a cousin who practises martial arts. When we reached my atelier, he looked out the window, admiring the view. I told him it was my favorite room.
He sat down and unfolded his power book to enter various data concerning the house. Then he asked if I knew Kyodai. I did not. On the tiny screen he brought up a game. I helped him find matching symbols to the sound of a rushing waterfall somewhere in the depth of Japan.
By then it was past lunch time — he had seen enough of the house, it was to be insured against fire, water, and various acts of the gods. Outside he looked up at the roof tiles and pointed at the swallows’ nests.
on screen
moss-covered stone lanterns —
a slight nostalgia
In Provence that can mean between 11 a.m. and 1 p.m. I did not wait and kept working, leaving my studio window open. He knocked at my front door just before noon. A tall man, friendly and relaxed. I walked ahead to show the house his company was to insure.
He noticed the three tatami mats used for the tea ceremony and told me he had just bought futon for his children via a cousin who practises martial arts. When we reached my atelier, he looked out the window, admiring the view. I told him it was my favorite room.
He sat down and unfolded his power book to enter various data concerning the house. Then he asked if I knew Kyodai. I did not. On the tiny screen he brought up a game. I helped him find matching symbols to the sound of a rushing waterfall somewhere in the depth of Japan.
By then it was past lunch time — he had seen enough of the house, it was to be insured against fire, water, and various acts of the gods. Outside he looked up at the roof tiles and pointed at the swallows’ nests.
on screen
moss-covered stone lanterns —
a slight nostalgia
by Giselle Maya
Saint Martin de Castillon, Provence, France
What an unusual visitor -- and an insurance man to boot!
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