Telling tales, of walking in wild places, of painting, of sleeping in warm places and of mice and other things....
Friday, May 9, 2008
Small words of night
Tonight it is as if a thin veil of silk is stretched across the sky and stitched with ink dark clouds and stars. Behind the veil a bright white light of crescent moon burns. The garden tastes of honeysuckle flowers warmed by early summer sun.
When first we started there were four of us, all ginger, and Max. Time has passed. The ginger pride are ghost cats, appart from Elmo. Now the house holds Max, oldest, tabby farm cat, dark, usually found sleeping on a cushion, Elmo, last of the Gingers, beautiful handsome and wonderful who still walks to the high hill top. And now there is Baggage and Bundle, silver mischief in sharp clawed kitten form. The adventures continue.
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