It is night. The ground is soft beneath foot and paw but the air holds in it the scent of frost. Cold. Each hollow, each dip, each valley, is filled with islands of mist silvered by moonlight, glowing with lamp light and house light. The sound of the sea is so close. As we walk together around the night village, brightened by moonlight Rosie jumps to a wall top and lifts her head to hear. Across the fields Fred, her brother, barks a night time greeting. Three fields away it is as if he stood next to her, but it is only her moon shadow that looks back.
Back in the house it is warm by the fire. All curl in cozy comfort and the air holds a sense of peace. Whatever swirls around, whatever troubles beset, within is a cat curl haven of warm and serenity. There are no builders here to disturb our comfort, but thanks to them we have a roof and walls and doors and thanks to them we are warm again. Today She released them, the builders, back into the wilds. They have made our home beautiful. With them they carry all our thanks.