Hey Diddle Diddle The Cat and The Fiddle

We three cats have been quiet cats for a long time now. She has been busy and we have been curled and hushed. Pixie is not well, with a green sticky sneezing. Maurice struggles to take a breath. So now only I walk. But mostly I sit and guard the house for Mr Griffiths. He is away in a warmer place but news is that he will soon be home. And Nadolig has made himself very comfortable by the fire at the neighbour's house.

As for Max, he has been strutting and posing and sleeping and helping. And I, well, I have been sitting in the bird tree among the bird feeders, waiting. Because I am Elmo and I am bad.

Summoning

First, early morning light through apple blossom, bluebells. She has too much work to do, but part of this work should be walking and dreaming. So She takes the bowl from the studio and we head up the hill together, woman, three dogs, bowl and me, Pixie.

The morning now is green grass and sunshine, east wind, early.

On top of the hill we wander and look and sniff and listen, and then it begins, a strange noise, a humming, a rising summoning of dragons. The wind still blows and carries the bowl's song, throwing it high into the air with the skylark exultation and even when She stops the bowl goes on, and on, and on. Beautiful, with the sea song, bird song, wind song, bowl song.

And did they come, on wings of fire blazing glory across a blue sky? Wait, and watch, and see. But most of all........... listen.

 

Pied and ginger

It was a day of golden sunshine. All day She had been working, although for a brief time we made a short trip to see the vet. As the afternoon began to pull long shadows from the sun I clawed Her out from Her studio to try and still the yawning and we walked together up the hill, and for the first time Nadolig came too.

Up the hill to the high top where bird shadows chased cloud shadows and Bella and I shared secret thoughts.

And Nadolig loved what he could see, curled up with Her, then followed back down and ate supper in the garden and sat on the windowsill as the sun went down and stars came out to light the night.
The shadowcat has stolen the moon. It will be a dark night tonight.

Sky dancers

Walking up the hill on a gray day, past the low cottage where Glyn is eating his solitary breakfast and up the emerald lane we disturb a family of four young ravens, newly fledged and full of the first joys of awkward flight. They rise into the wind and are tossed around in the turbulent sky while their parents sail on the ocean of air like anthracite bird ships, so in tune with their element, so sure and swift.
The parents dance with the wind, folding back wings to tumble in ecstasy, hanging still on the wind's edge. The young ones will learn how to balance the air on their soot black wings. For now they delight in their stumbling flight as we watch and wish for wings.