We are gathered together

In the dark time of a winter night we are gathered together to make a spell, a dream, for a caged cat far away.




This cannot be done by one cat alone, but needs a collective effort of deep sleep, warm fur and a hint of wildness.




And so we sleep and as we sleep we weave a spell of dreaming.

After Christmas

Up the hill in the quiet and the pearly light of the day after Christmas. Billy came for a walk and Claire and Daf.




And Claire carried me and Daf made a good viewing point and I taught Billy how to sit on the rock and look majestic and handsome. Behind the sky was dappled with cloud. Beautiful.

A change in the weather

The bright cold has turned to mild and wet and where days ago the landscape was painted with frost now water drops hang in the blackthorn bushes like bright beads.
We have been Furr-and-Purred and would like to say thank you. Many cats walk with us in spirit. Soon we will send a dream to a caged cat far away, a present for Christmas.

The silver dapples of the moon

Cold. Night time walking and the moon is so bright the shadows fall like dappled mosaic through the black bone branches of winter trees. Half of the sky is bleached by silver moonlight. In the other half the dark is pinned to the night with stars. All is hushed. The murmur of the surf a distant sea song lullaby of lazy waves.

Early morning light

In the early morning light Mr Griffiths next door was arleady up and about, a light shining from his window. We worry. Is he cold? The wind blows hard through his house and neither house nor man are young anymore.




As we neared the top of the hill the early morning sun made us glow. The sky still held tight to a few stars.




The sun came up like a glorious ginger fire. The frost held sway in corners, dusting bracken with white ice crystals. But the sky was on fire with daylight.
Distant hills. Planes writing lines on a pure, new day.

Stalking gingers

On the high hill the ginger cows munch coarse grass and golden flowers. We find their wool hanging like ginger washing on the fences where they have scratched themselves against the wire. Huge, woolly and medieval with horns like spears we stalk carefully around them. But they seem like gentle beasts.




Curious to know what we are, the young ones come closer, but we are wary and stalk past like leopards. And the winter sun shines on our dappled coats and makes them shine.

Black dog walking and the wild fox

Sunshine and gray sky. Walking with Pitta and Ffion. Black dog shines in the sunlight. The dogs picked up exciting messages and then on the rock we saw a fox, watching, keeping his distance, clear against the skyline. A wild thing.



We watched for a while and the fox watched us.




Later Pixie let Ffion carry her a little way and she chewed her fingers and kept her warm and made her smile.

Wishes are born

On this night the sky is brim-full of stars. Too pale a light to make a star-shadow but in the dark they seem to shine a light of claw-prick brightness. No moon, not even a sliver. Across the sky a streak of burning light as a star falls. Everywhere, around the world, where star gazers look up wishes are born.

Walking in the ginger sunshine

At last we have sunshine after the wind and the rain. The fields are full of small swift snipe, the sky is patched with racing clouds and the bracken is beautiful ginger.




We walk, and the gorse bush still has golden flowers. Life is sweet. In the sky a peregrine with swift wings and sharp claws and slate dark feathers cuts across the sky like a knife, chasing snipe.




Winter sun shines low and lights the grass with gold, a halo around ginger fur.




On the journey home I am lifted high, the better to see the view. And the world looks beautiful.

Circus cats and Moon jars

Today the wind cat is pushing paws and claws into the house through the catflap. All night he has raged. He wants to warm himself on our fire, he wants to curl on our wolf blanket, he wants to sleep on a warm, clean bed.
Yesterday She was away all day again and it seems that She was signing books in our name for people who who walk with us through our rambling writing.
And it seems that in the exhibition there are big moon jars like the one Elmo was made in and we wonder, at night, do cats come out of these? Can you make other things with them, other creatures, bats and rats and clouded leopards? And would they all have as little sense as Elmo, the amazing performing circus cat.

Elmo's tree

In my tree bright birds sit like chiming golden fruits. I climb into the tree through the green and twisted branches, calling to the bright birds, asking them to be my friend, to come to me and sit on my claw.




But they do not come. They fly away. And so I melt down from the tree and away. Birds have little faith in cats.

The Science of Sleep

Now She is home. She has lit a fire and the house is warm and we can sleep again knowing tat She is safe.




Last night Maurice crept into the bedroom and hid and then stretched himself out to lie beside Her, against Her back. And all night long he sang a sleeping song of purrs and chased away bad dreams. At some point She woke and found him and wrapped Her arms around him to cuddle close. And now we all forgive her.




Today is a busy day as all the paintings are hung in the exhibition space and the show opens. We have been catching mice for Her to put on cocktail sticks, refreshments for the visitors. But She said they do not want mice, that there is a restaurant there and they do not cook mouse pie.
At least we have made sure that She has had a good nights sleep.

A certain silence

We, all five of us, are not talking to her. She went away for too long. We were left here, with no fire to keep us warm and no one to come for walks and no one to feed the birds to keep us entertained. Only someone who came and went and fed us.
Even when She came back She has been too busy to walk with us. The dogs have walked on the beach and She has been carrying paintings out to the car and away all day and we don't know where and then home and working away on the computer, and each day She has taken the camera.
But this evening She has made the house warm and a fire glows in the hearth and the children sleep in warm beds and we drip and melt in comfort on the sofa, a sofa of sleeping cats. No more to huddle in cold corners. She is back, and we, we are glad.
Soon we may even talk to Her again. But we will not, no we will never, let Her know that we might have missed Her.
Just a little.