Just another day

Banished to sit a café while strangers wander around my home of thirty two years.

They will be wondering about all the wonderful things they could do with it while experiencing its peace and space to grow.

Hopefully, more than a couple of them will feel motivated to bid generously and buy it to manifest those dreams.

Well, as an old teacher told me (a few times), “It is what it is, and it isn’t what it isn’t.” That’s all very stoical and sensible, but (and) I’m still sat here crumbling around the edges.

Ho hum.

— —

Maybe this is appropriate, maybe not: here’s a poem for my guests and visitors.

He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

(W. B. Yeats - 1865-1939)

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

https://youtu.be/CH1F1UPvU_0