October. The sky has dulled. Clouds mass in the west. The wind thrums in the wires. The
cat shudders and lets out a sigh. He stretches and turns three times in his basket. Then
settles back to sleep, paw over his eyes, brooking no disturbance.
There is static in the air, presaging the storm, and I pace the house. The cat sleeps on
unperturbed, twitching as he runs in the garden of his dreams. Now the rain batters the
window and I watch the smeared shapes of the trees bend and flex under the weight of the
wind.
When the fury is over the lawn is strewn with leaves and the petals of the last roses of
summer, bruised and fading, their beauty dashed. A small sound in the quiet wakes the cat
and he and I step into the garden together to test the air for the tentative scents of autumn.
No comments:
Post a Comment