Saturday, July 14, 2007

In twisting dreams



It rained again. All day it rained and the tall grass bowed with the weight of the falling water. It is cold, not like summer. So we curled together in the warm and dreamed.




In our dreams we twisted and turned. Elmo dreamed of being a circus cat, fierce as a lion, on a high wire in a blue circus tent spangled with gold stars, while below people roared their applause.




Pixie dreamed of sailing with an owl on a pea green boat to an island where a turkey lived, of gold rings and shillings, honey and money.




And I dreamed of hunting, the great snark mice, sneaking behind them in the summer sunshine with my shadow carefully hidden in a pocket of fur.
At the horse farm, Steve, who is ginger, sheltered from the rain in the barn where swallows nest and dreamed of his tail.
Then the rained stopped and we uncurled and stretched and went out. Everywhere was mud and water and mist.




We carried our dreams still in our minds. The trails of mice were washed away, but soon they would come out again and the hunt would start afresh. And after the rain the sun will come and all will smell beautiful.

4 comments:

Daisy said...

Guess what Elmo? Sometimes I have the circus cat dream too! It is a good dream.

Fritzamus Maximus said...

Beautiful photos! We hope the sun comes out soon. The Feeders were very lucky on their trip to England and said that the weather was very good!

Finnegan & Buddy said...

Those sound like wonderful dreams. It's furry nice that you have each other to curl up and dream with.

I have dreams too. I dream of being a wild and free outdoors cat, of hunting through the grass for mice, of stretching out in a sunny spot for a long summer's nap, where I would probably dream of being an indoors cat, pampered and spoiled. Sigh. Why can't we have it all?

Your friend Buddy

The Ginger Darlings said...

Thinking about it I suppose we do have it all. Inside, outside, hunting and snoozing, in cupboards or boxes or pots or cave cups of golden grasses warmed by the hot sun. Stalking through the hedgerows frightening the birds, and food when we want it. Well almost.

Hardlife, but someone has to do it. And still we dream.