The one-eyed Rocket is growing up and we are proud to show you all his new tricks.
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| PAW |
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| LEAVE |
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| FETCH |
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| COME |
This post is a little late and should have been wishing everyone a happy new year. However complications with the computer (aaaargh) delayed all. I'm not very good with gadgets at the best of times - or even the worst of times - and a friend has given me his smart phone - hah! Yesterday I found myself in Warsash in the middle of the day and a beautiful fox strolled up the lane. It ambled into a front garden and lay down on the grass. I inched my way towards it and sat down too. After a while I remembered I had this smart phone and perhaps could take a picture of it. Sadly I had trouble making it work. What made me laugh was the old lady (and I am talking old here) came out and told me she had exactly the same phone and why didn't she take the picture on her phone and e mail it to me! The fox moved.
We had an owl guest over Christmas. the same person who had given me the phone asked me to look after this lovely tawny owl as he'd found it in the road a bit stunned and couldn't look after it over the festive period. He wanted to let it go back where he'd found it when it recovered. I managed a photo on my camera which I can work as it's so simple. I thought it might be easier for me to send messages by owl as I can't work out text messages either on this new phone.
So Pocket (quarter Bengal and still coming when we call Rocket) said he'd give some writing advice this time round. I couldn't imagine how he could do this - as far as I know he doesn't read and I didn't think he was penning a novel, However he says "write a little every day without hope and without despair." and I said are you sure these are your words? I think Karen Blixen said them. And he stared into space and said "whatever."
And Pixie's interesting fact this post is that it's the year of the pig.
It's also the year that one of my favourite poets Mary Oliver died.
I said Stay!
The summer's Day
by Mary Oliver
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
