This morning the light was like the lustre on old pearls, so soft. Now there is none. No light. So dark you cannot see paw infront of whisker. So dark it is the deepdark, richdark of a black cat's fur. Across the sky clouds have eaten starlight, the new moon, the lighthouse sweep. Across the field the dog at the daffodil farm barks and sounds so close we could almost touch him. The sea is quiet, pressed beneath the weight of water-filled air, smoothed of all creases, unstirred by wind's breath. This is how it is now.
Dear We Three,
ReplyDeleteIt is afternoon here on the west coast of the US and the sky is the color of slate. We are expecting a downpour any moment. But we are safe and snug, tucked into pillow crevices on the couch, circled within our tails on the soft blanket on the back porch and sleeping in a bed on the shelf in the bathroom (That's Molina, she's afraid of the dog).
We love hearing your stories. Enjoy your day.
We Twelve (our human can't say no to a stry)
Your prose poetry is so very moving. reading from several thousand miles away, seeing the same moon in a different night sky, it's sometimes overwhelming. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteTwo beautiful descriptions! I can see them in my head and feel the dampness and hear the noises. So beautiful.
ReplyDeleteMore proof that cats are poets at heart (although most begrudge their audience such a lovely performance). If only my own cats could put pen to paper, instead of paw to paint as goes the usual routine!
ReplyDeleteI know exactly how that is! Living by the sea, I saw the fog-filled air through the window before I went out into the gloom. I noticed the light followed by an eerie darkness. I could not describe it s poetically as you, nor did I even think about doing so, but I felt it all over again when I read your words!
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