Outside the sun is shining. The snowdrops are fading and primroses hold a promise of summer sun in their pale yellow flowers. The days get longer. The birdsong is louder and all around the rooks and the jackdaws begin to gather sticks and moss to make unruly nests.
There are lambs in the field by the house, bright and full of their own springs and playful running.
But my heart is raw and open for today the best of all cats had died. Words fail me.
Yesterday he jumped up into my arms where I held him warm and close.
Today I have buried him in the soft, dark earth.
There was something so very special about Maurice and only those who have had the great privilege to be so close with an animal will know that. Never broken, beyond the frail thing called love, perhaps just a mutual respect.
His death leaves me breathless.