“Listen to the wind, it talks.
Listen to the silence, it speaks.
Listen to your heart, it knows.”
~ Native American proverb
Would that I could understand what the wind’s been saying of late.
It might have some particularly pertinent messages for me, were I to understand.
Winds of change are never easy but they ARE life changing.
As are the winds that have been menacing my part of the world the past day or three.
Window panes whistle. CEASELESSLY.
Words fly UNHEARD
into the ether.
Just for a change,
I CAN’T be heard.
I don’t think
that’s a GOOD thing.
The other thing silenced by the wind is the cawing of the seagulls.
They’re suspiciously quiet when grounded.
The youngest lemming has an INTENSE dislike of the wind.
He makes me chuckle with his vehement complaints.
He can’t apparently HEAR the furballs when he calls them when the wind’s blowing.
I thought the theory was that the furballs would hear HIM when he calls them,
NOT the other way around.
Flawed logic obviously.
The furballs have settled in well at The Flat @ No. 14.
They’ve quickly mastered their egress and ingress through the kitchen window.
|The kitchen window where the furballs go in and out ... it's going to need regular cleaning.|
She does find it a tad more difficult reaching the counter but,
once up, has an easier ride down.
All you hear is a THUD.
|The hound and her stick, which Bessie wanted to share.|
Bessie (the Labrador that lives at No. 14) is learning that the fur-balls rule at The Flat @ No. 14.
Menacing growls and arched backs do that to a hound.
Tail between legs, she s recognising her place in the pecking order.
The Wanderer , aka Tiger, sees her as part of the hound’s pack.
What he does to the one should be done to the other.
He has a habit of rubbing himself under the hound’s chest and nuzzling her chin when he returns from his daily forays.
He included Bessie in his nuzzling the other night, much to her consternation.
Startled doesn’t even begin to describe the look on her face.
If only the camera had been to hand.
The Flat @ No. 14 is beginning to feel like home.
Everything’s in its place and there’s a place for everything.
Even a place for me when I need to sleep at night.
There’s a sense of calmness here.
The hound and the furballs feel it too.
|Dew drops on cobwebs|
“One day someone is going to hug you so tight,
that all of your broken pieces will stick back together.”