In the garden, in the time that is still night, almost morning, when darkness still holds the world, the stars are swallowed by clouds. Each day when the new light comes there is a small moment of awe. It is still enough to hear a shrew squeak, but over the hill the waves can be heard, biting the cliffs. Unusual. More often there is a distant murmur of sea on shore as the waves roll up the gentle sand slope at Traeth Mawr.
Soon a new day will begin as the night tips over into daylight, but for now this is a time of quiet peace and we can snooze, islands of ginger purr, on Her bed while She reads.