Still the night.

The wind cat has taken his family home and on their way they scooped up all the clouds and with their tails flicked the sky clear and lovely, painting the stars back into the heavens. It is still now and across the fields an autumn fox calls. So quite, and the night smells of hay and damp earth, seasalt spray and the tracks of small and fearful creatures. A tawny owls sits hunched on a wire, watching for the flick of movement, the light of an eye, that betrays the eager mouse. It is cold. You can hear a leaf fall. Somewhere now the wind cat is resting and gathering his strength on his cloud bed. For now we enjoy the perfect peace of a still night.