Sunday, November 11, 2007
Tom's birthday and the house in the morning had wonderful paper from presents to play with. Later it filled up with people, so many that we could not walk across the floor, and dogs too, Larry and Weasel, the small one and Pitta, the black one.
I do not like too many people in the house so I went outside. Here Tom and his friend Jake had a fire in the garden. I watched from the dark distance as the flames danced in the dark.
There were patterned cats and dancers and dragon's breath and monsters, mermaids and firebirds and firewolves and tiger's eyes, faces and firehorses and faeries and imps all dancing in the ginger flames in the darkness. So warm, sparks flying, mesmeric, beguiling.
Then all the people spilled out and began to move around with strange sticks with sparks, drawing patterns in the night, and then, and then, the world began to crack and bang and the sky filled with light and I ran, round the back of the house and away from the sky monsters and their noise and the hair stood up on my tail and back, and all the gingers ran from the house.
It did not last long. One great flower of fire filled the sky and faded down then all was silent again, but for the odd call of a bat, and the mice rustling in the hedges, an owl across on the common, a rat squeak by the well. The others went back into the house and they all settled by the fire, a tangle of people and dogs and cats. But I would not go. I stayed out in the night, high on the wall of the ruined house and watched the world turn and the stars move in a pattern of light. And wondered, did the last flowering rocket leave some of its sparks in the sky? Were there new stars there now? Is that how they get there?
All night I kept watch until the sun began to climb into the sky and the fire in the garden was blackened ash, and then I went home, and She was so pleased to see me. Sometimes it is worth hiding away for a while to get a good welcome home.
And Tom, he had a good birthday.