Rock, water, stone, feather.

Although we know She should be working we thought itwas time that She should be walking, so we clawed Her out from Her studio, away from the cheetah She was painting and up the hill to a land of blue sky. All the way up the green lane the garss was wet, but not with tears for Martha, who loved to walk this way. The land will miss her soft pawed carress, but it does not weep for her.

Full of life we were and free on this beautiful warm sunshine day, and each step that we took, each paw that we raised and planted on the dark earth we did so in celebration of Martha's life. The air was all golden birds and dark chough. At the Standing Stone, all softened with lichens, we played King of the Castle, Rosie and me.

I won.

We were on top of the world. The sun was warm, the salt air full of birdsong. We were alive and we were here to celebrate.

Floss and Rosie found a high place. In the sky the moon hung silent. I climbed to their high place to be closer to the beautiful moon.

 On the way back down a raven circled where we had been walking, tumbling and turning in the joy of having wings. On the hill we all found a quiet sense of peace, the bright moon, the dark raven, the golden birds and memories.