Rising wind

We walk around the village in the milky moonlight of a clouded full moon night. The moonshadows are softened by cloudlight. We see the barn owl, a fragile scrap of white, caught in the moonlight and lifted high by the paw of the wind. And the wind cat is rising still and calling her pride to come and play, bending the trees and lifting the waves to moonbows in the spray. The scent of woodsmoke threads through the path of the wind.
Back in the garden we hear the owl, still calling, still hunting.

This is how we spend our days

In the light of an early morning, when night time was reluctant to allow the day to start, we walked up the hill, past Mr Griffith's house where a light shone out of the tiny window.

The wind was rising, and there were snipe and curlew and lapwing and bright pheasants like flames. Beneath the music of the wind we thought we could hear the wind cat calling, but maybe it was just the buzzard mewing.

In a field we found tiny ponies, hair all blown about, hooves so small, almost as small as a cats paw.

At home She stirred up the fire and took out the ashes and fed more fuel into it and the sleeping dragon there began to glow again and send out warmth. We rested by the fire while She went into Her studio to scribble and scrawl and colour things in and watch the bright birds dance outside Her window.

Rosie wanted to share Kiffer's chair.

Martha, being the oldest and wisest, took up residence above the fire.

Pupur a Halen

Pupur: " Messy in here don't you think, Cariad?"
Halen: " Yes!"

A day full of birds

Outside Her studio window wild birds flock in the cold to the bushes where bird feeders hang.
A robin, bright eyed, red breasted.

Gangs of house sparrows that feed on all the different foods.

Great tits that bully and fight with the smaller birds and love the new suet pellets that are so very yellow.

Tiny dunnock, deceptively brown but with all shade of blues hidden in the feathers.

Rainbow dressed male chaffinch that feed on the seeds and glean the ground below.

Blue tits, bright and beautiful.

Female blackbirds and their bright yellow beaked partners, a whole flock, gathered together as the ground is so hard they cannot feast on worms, but love the trays of suet mixed with fruits and nuts.

Not bad pictures really, when you consider that She took them through the studio windows and we know how dirty Her windows are!

Talking to the animals

Sometimes the cats let me post on their site. This is one of those times.
Working at home I walked out of the studio to find Floss and Rosie huddled by the door.
"What's the matter dogs?" I asked. But they are dogs and they did not answer.
Then a huge cat ran down the hall, bouncing and with great purpose.
"Oh, Kiffer, are you being naughty?" I said.
"Mmmeow yes, " he replied with a cat giggle.
" Oh dear, I think I have been here on my own for too long!" I thought.
Kiffer just looked at me, head on one side (as always) and smiled.

Rosie's menu for last week

This week I have eaten
a dog brush
a hair comb
a sponge from the kitchen
a cardboard box
a kitchen knife
some pheasant feathers
cat food
dog food
roast potatoes
a roll of sticky tape
frozen horse poo
grass
a shoe
a slipper (like a shoe but softer)
a hairbrush
some paper
wrapping from a chocolate bar
and various other things.
yum.

Pheasants and ducks and feathers flying

Strange things happened today in the garden. The man called Daf turned up with ducks and they sat in the garden and took off the feathers until there was a snow storm of feathers all bright like fire. So good of Her to pluck the birds for us, but Se need not have bothered. We could do that!
But She would not let us eat them, and put them away in the kitchen, and then cooked them and ate them!

Patterns in the sky

A day full of the distraction of wings. On the path up the hill snail shells made a mosaic pattern, broken and splintered. The birds need no anvil stones to break the brittle winter shells. The earth is hard as stone, frozen.

Low winter sun slant lights ginger fur to make it burn like fire in the cold. The blue sky is huge.

On top of the rock there are frozen pockets of water. The horses eat the thorny gorse bushes. Even they look cold.

And the sky is patterned with the most beautiful clouds that sing of high winds, far off, painting patterns in the air.

Later there are no clouds in the night sky. The air is strange, almost thickened by the cold. Starlight glimmers on frost crystals in the grass, though few stars are visible in the night's fabric. The sea whispers a gentle song. The dogs run off into the night on a wild hunt, chasing the fleet foot fox. Only Rosie remains, hackles up, unsure, barking, as the old dogs' voices become more distant in the chase. We walk slowly around the night time village on the moon silvered pathways, dappled with shadows under the low thorn trees. Now and then we stand and listen to the progress of the wild hunt.
The fox escapes and the dogs wander back, fierce and jumping still, with excitement. All is still again, but for the sea's song, the pad paw of cat on the frost crisped grass and the occasional chatter of a shrew in its sleep.
Inside is warm, the fire glows ginger, we settle to dream.

A night, like any other

The stars seem very far apart this night. The bright moon castes deep shadows and is circled by a halo of ice and light. The grass rustles like paper, frosted and dry as it is. There is a warm smell of wood smoke hanging in the stillness of the air. Tonight the foxes will skitter and skit across the frozen ponds to the cold and sleeping ducks and snatch them from their dreams. Tonight the owl's wings will haunt the hedges, but mice will huddle safe in clusters, close together for safety and warmth. In holes in the wall, in hedges and trees wrens will form feather balls, packed in tight. They will sleep soundly in the safety of numbers, quiet as quiet, so that the stalking weasel will not hear.
And we will sleep draped over arm chairs and fire and bed, warm in the house where the dragon fire slumbers, while She dreams and reads and the dogs snore and remember in their moonlit slumber a dim and distant past when they were wolves.

Rosie's new year resoluions

This year I tried to be good, but so far have eaten:

a pair of sunglasses
a sponge for cleaning things
a koala bear toy that was precious
a brown shoe
a black shoe
some coal
some horse poo (frozen
bird seed
a pen
a chip or maybe more
cat food.
But I did not,
no I did not,
eat Kiffer's head!

Quiet soul, peaceful night

Half a moon rides in a sky silvered with moonlight and starlight. The dark hills edge the landscape with beautiful silhouette. No dog bark breaks the peace, no bell from cathedral, no bird wing or call. The merest breath of breeze disturbs the sleeping leaves. Moonshadows mosaic patterns beneath the winter tree. Cold frost gives way to rain like silk splinters and the ground softens in thaw.

Sleeping soundly

Tired after running through grass on frost covered hills, Rosie sat on the cat and went to sleep.

While outside the birds flock to birdfeeders in the garden, we sleep.

Outside the earth is hard as iron. The water pools are thick with ice and ring like bells when the two legs throw stones at them. White crystals of ice paint the landscape in winter colours and the sky seems bleached. It is cold.

Inside we curl and drape across soft furniture, over the fire and in unexpected places we dream. Comfortable as only cats can be.

Lets play squash the cat!

Twolegs and fourlegs

While we were out walking the two young two-legs went off with their friends and horses, down the beach in the sunshine. It was cold and Hannah rode bareback up from the beach, fingers chilled, face cold. They seemed to think it a good idea to call in for hot chocolate on the way back to the field. When the horses saw the cave house full of tigers and wolves they were very excited, but soon calmed down when fruit cake joined hot chocolate.
Pixie viewed all from the safety of a tree.

Twolegs warmed hands on glasses of chocolate steaming in sunshine.

Red decided that the way to get cake was to give Ffion a kiss, but Kai settled for apple from Deb's pocket.
So, we wondered, in a day of horses what or who will turn up next?

Boxing day, golden walking.

Boxing day, golden light. The air has a cold chill in the sunshine and is full of birds. On top of the hill sunshine slants.

A blue sky day, wild land, empty of people, full of life.

Along this way many have passed leaving messages tangled in thorns that snatch and catch as we walk through, fox and badger, stoat and weasel.

Silver horses greet us, gentle giant beasts that shine in the golden light.

They watch us walk, at peace with all, curious, brilliant.

Brave Kiffer, who knows no fear, decides that a cat can ride a horse.

Animal Christmas

Christmas eve and She has bought our Christmas present early! Elmo makes sure it doesn't get away while I go fetch the others. Christmas is after all a time for sharing.

And for Christmas Rosie gets the most annoying squeaking pheasant, but is soon worn out by all and everything.

ps. For Christmas we gave Her a rat. Not just any rat. This was the King Rat, biggest in the garden ad it took team work to catch and to kill. Did She say thank you? You may well ask. She took one look and sighed, with love maybe for our kind thought, and said, 'a rat. How lovely. Just what always wanted.' Then She picked it up in a plastic bag and took it away outside. Pixie said that she could detect a note of sarcasm in Her voice, but I thought She was holding back a tear of joy that we could be so generous.
Maurice.

Snipe and shooting stars.

It is night again. In this moment of peace stand in the garden and look up into the sky. What we once thought was the bowl of night is rich with wonder. The air is still. At first the sky seems to be the cloth of heaven pierced by cat claw to reveal the lights of heaven behind. Look closer. There are bright stars and pale and behind, above, around these a myriad of lights, a thousand billion could not number. The texture of the heavens is a wonder of the world.
Tonight again there is a stillness that hangs. Cold air bites at skin. Somewhere a snipe rises in dangerous dark flight, disturbed from sleep by the blood red fox. All around distant dogs bark. Somewhere someone whistles, to call a dog home to the hearthside.
From the sky a small star falls, an arc of light in an infinite tapestry.

Peace

Early morning and now so still. The world is waiting. Across the fields the cathedral bell tolls, sound muffled by the thickness of damp air. Six chimes ring out. Across the sky the beam of the lighthouse sweeps like a cat tail. As yet no birds sing to call the sun to rise and the dark is a texture that brushes face and whiskers like soft silk. No birdsong and no wave sound. It would seem that the sea has taken a vow of silence on this darkest of mornings.
We wish you all peace, joy and fulfillment of dreams. And for cats, a full bowl, a warm fire and a soft lap.

The sound of the night

Outside in the darkness there is a quiet sense of waiting. The air is still, heavy with water, not raining, but like the finest cloud. From somewhere distant the sea breathes, in and out on a shore of sand, drawing patterns that flick and change with the turn of every tide, every wave.
Heaven's lamps are shrouded in clouds. The dogs chase a wild red fox, over dark fields and hedges. In the distance a dog barks a wish to join in the chase. Wild things snuffle and grunt in the hedges. The birds stir, uneasy in their sleep.
The chase ends, fox escapes and the dogs return home to the warmth of a new made fire.
In the distance the farm dog still barks.
Peace.