There is hardly any light – the sun only rises an inch and a half above the horizon. This week, the whole week, I only managed to take nine photos. A few of some sparrows and one of a cat. This week you’re getting the cat. Next week – who knows?
So, you also get a cat poem – for no reason other than I wrote one some time ago.
Cat in the garden. Just passing through.
It seems he had nothing better to do.
Except sit and stare at the grass and the sky,
to wonder, ‘If?’ and to wonder, ‘Why?’
Cat in the garden, what’s that he hears?
All at once he is all ears.
Up on his feet, gone the civilised poise,
something in the hedge made a rustling noise.
Low he stalks forward, then – what a relief.
The rustling noise was made by a leaf.
Cat in the garden, nothing better to do
than sit calm and detached, and nonchalant too.
