Don’t worry. Trixie is monitoring the situation.
Don’t worry. Trixie is monitoring the situation.
Trixie’s idea of how a garden trug should really be used.
when the rain lashes in grey-green green-grey
and the stove is lit again in June
and the long meadow grass is a heavy sea
some small things bring light
with their own private sunshine
Trixie is twelve years old this month. We tend to forget she’s getting on a bit, she’s such a good little trooper. We took her to the vet this morning for the second time in her twelve years, because she won’t eat. It might be only a surfeit of voles or that dead bird she found and ate. She has some cat medicine to settle her digestive tract, and we have instructions to watch her carefully over the next couple of days. Crossing fingers.
there are more important things going on
more distress and more poignant stories
but when the Mistress of Pasta is unwell
sadness seeps into the silence
the light in the sky seems a little dimmer
A cat Serpent’s Tail poem for the OctPoWriMo prompt.
What can I say about the cat
that shares this home,
roams at will
until hunger brings her in?
Winter cold resistant,
insistent, she claims her right to walk,
stalk the night,
bright eyes light the way.
Daytime, she sits for hours,
scours thickets and hedge,
edging ever closer to small prey.
Says the dog, you’ll never change her,
feather-brain but quick,
thick as river mud but fast,
last to leave the chase.
Brace yourself to wait,
late, for there she’ll squat.
Evening cat walking
such slow and noisy progress
but so companiable.
Trixie is not the kind of cat that shows much interest in people. She is very vocal, but that’s telling people what she wants, not an attempt at meaningful conversation. The only time she was known to allow anyone to pick her up and not protest was when she was an abandoned kitten and was looking for a home daft enough to take her in. Her behaviour has changed quite a lot since we’ve been here. Not that she purrs or sits on your lap or anything demeaning like that, but she has developed a taste for going walkies. Every afternoon she comes with me, or me and Finbar on a stroll around the property. It’s two hectares so it makes a reasonable stroll for a cat.
I set off down towards the stream, and Trixie follows.
She knows the path
We meet one of the noisy critters that chuckles all night. It thinks we can’t see it, but the water in this bit of the ditch is only about half an inch deep.
We inspect the deer damage. This is supposed to be what happens when they rub their horns against trees, but since they do it systematically to the young saplings, I wonder if it’s not that they are eating the bark.
Trixie takes the lead along the hedge. She inspects the animal runs while I take pics of the orchids.
There are only a few serapias in our meadow, but the one at the other side of the hedge has masses of them. This one appears to have a bee stuck in it.
There are hundreds of bee orchids
and a big clump of these that look like birds’ nest orchids, but since they are rare and grow mainly in pine woods, I wouldn’t swear to it.
Looking across to the house. The pink flower is a pyramid orchid of which there are hundreds. We’ve noticed that the people round here leave these orchids standing when they mow their lawns. I wonder if there isn’t some local legend about them.
A very old blackthorn with sloe berries forming
Fig and walnut trees in the patch that was the old kitchen garden
A bit of the massive vine that we are liberating from the brambles
The next section is where the grass snake lives and I don’t like to hang about. It is very large and it hisses. Then there are the oak tree where squirrels live and both Trixie and Finbar are very keen to get at, so I carry Trixie, protesting vociferously until we get to the poplars and the black locust tree.
Yes, she’s furious, but I’m sick of her killing other people’s babies.
Today I belled the cat
too many deaths brought to my door
when parents starve to feed their young
so many songs now never sung
because this waste I so deplore
today I belled the cat.
flowers, not yet sun-woken,
sleep, but birds fill the tree
her gaze fixed,
not on bright, darting feathers,
but on the deer
high-stepping along the stream,
dreaming of the taste
of fur and hot blood.
‘SEVEN DAYS. SEVEN BLACK AND WHITE PHOTOS OF YOUR LIFE.
NO PEOPLE. NO EXPLANATION. CHALLENGE SOMEONE NEW EACH DAY’
Copy and paste the above description with your photos and tag me so I see your entry.
Thanks to Willow who nominated me today, Sunday October 29. I haven’t had a phone/camera very long so we’ll see if I can find seven photos on it worth posting.
Today I’m challenging Sue Vincent.
Books and new writing
Never back down 🔱⚔️
Ein OIKOS[TM]-Projekt gegen Antisemitismus, Rassismus, Extremismus und Fremdenfeindlichkeit.
Mad woman from mediocrity, muses.
Writer & Photographer
of a son
Minoan Linear A, Linear B, Knossos & Mycenae
Ramblings of an Irish ecologist and gardener
Poetry of a changing Earth. The grief is real--so is the hope.
Inspiring others through the written word, fictional blurbs & documenting my writing process from scratch.
occasional musings of an itinerant seanchaí polishing his craft online
The Things That Are In My Head.
offbeat words for you...
Just writing what's on my mind
AS HUMILDES OPINIÕES DE UMA MULHER DE CORAGEM QUE DIZ SIM À VIDA!
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My journey through photography
Inspiration and Spirituality **Award Free**
≈ fictionalpaper / piccoloscissors / creativeglue ≈
Philosophy is all about being curious, asking basic questions. And it can be fun!
Not a literary magazine for ordinary times, but a journal for an exceptional one. Writing the pandemic, together. Image, Somewhere in Time by Hengki Lee: Instagram @hengki_lee
Running in the slow lane
It started as a 366 - now a regular Photoblog- just for the love of taking photos and sharing them.
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Promoting mindful living
A r t w o r k . . . f r o m . . . . . . H i n t e r l a n d . . . . . . . . . . . . . G e r m a n y
October and November 2019
"Words are all we have" Samuel Beckett.