As winter approaches, words fall from the tree and are blown across the roof. Rain falls, soaking the thirsty ground, as I sit on the chair watching the world turn to winter. A cat jumps on my lap seeking warmth and a friendly place to sleep. My mind drifts. Thoughts blur as the soft purr fades to warmth and contentment.
The wind blows, gently rattling the screen and that line returns to my brain. The line that starts and won’t end. That single thought that leads nowhere. Fragments of words torn from old books and newly reformed in my consciousness.
There are four of them, and Spirit.
Socks. He’s aggressive and yet a charmer. He knows how to work his way into your heart. Socks, the warrior, the bully, the center of attention and the sweet gentleman curling up in your arms melting your heart.
Boots. She’s a big girl and knows when the food is out. She’s clumsy and awkward, bit like an old boot. Given a chance she backs away. When finally caught the boot nestles like toes into the deep warmth of your arms.
Bella. She loves her food and soon will be known as Bella the belly. Aloof and a loner she often growls at the others, warning them of her displeasure. She likes her toys – a little toy mouse flies through the air when she is near. She sleeps in the basket in the hall, leaning her head into passersby for that little scratch behind the ear.
Spot. Smallest and smartest. Skittish and wary with soft fur. She watches the doors, trying to figure them out. She eats little and doesn’t like the rules. Yet, in the evening she’ll be the first on your lap. She’s gone before breakfast and is not back till dinner. Likely, she’s just off seeing how the world works.
And there are four of them, and Spirit.
Spirit. The queen. The old lady of the house. Spends all day in her room sleeping in the sun. The others are of only passing interest and sometimes she aims a hiss their way. She won’t admit it, but Boots is her favorite – often poking a paw under the door seeking her friendship. Frail and wise she is our old kitty.
Such are the musing of heart as the wind blows and the cats sleep. Thoughts wander from the needed storm to the light and warmth of the house. Christmas tree lit, music playing and tea kettle steaming.
Soon it will be time to sip tea and sit down to write.
Soon it will be time to try to turn my mood into words.
Till next week,