We have been walking, but She has been busy, with a new blog and an exhibition and thoughts and tiredness. We have been walking, but not often, and Maurice is much missed, and Kiffer and Martha.
We have walked on odd days and beautiful nights when the moon has stolen the colour from the world and made mosaic shadows from bone branches of trees, dark dappled on the garden.
On mild days we have watched over Glyn's house as the jackdaws stake a claim and the mice move in and the rain washes over it all. Glyn is warm, in a home, happy We hope.
On cold days we have curled tight by the fire and dreamed our dreams.
And now the exhibition is finished and Her studio is in chaos and She is tired tired and walking slowly and sleeping as only a cat can. Reading and sleeping and pretending to tidy and preparing to work again.
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