Monday, July 11, 2011
One friend was standing by the church gate earlier; a passing elderly gent told her - the vicar is going. Been here Eleven years. They haven't found a replacement yet.
Good to know the grapevine is accurate.
I used to live here. My house is becoming hollow. Clean, warm rooms are looking like tired, musty, damp shells. Echoes of themselves. Memories of laughter sound around them. The kitchen remembers Podcaths & Bible Studies and Alphas and then sighs - and forgets.
The dining room wonders where the piano was.
The study is a repository for unwanted furniture. Not yet wanted furniture. Not yet wanted books. Someone will claim them again. But not me, not here.
I used to live here. I am moved, am moving, am emotional and in motion.