Birds, flowers and books.

In the garden a few blooms of honeysuckle still cleave the memory of summer to the old pear tree. Now it bustles with birds as they have found the feeders with seeds and fat balls. So, bright, so busy, where once there was a riot of flowers, now there is a riot of birds. The one sweet scented, the other sweet voiced.

And I have planned out my day. One hour painting, fifteen minutes reading, Firebrand by Gillian Philip published by Strident.

In my pocket a talisman. The breast feather of a peregrine falcon.

Later: Some days do not go according to plan. Martha, my oldest cat, had been ailing for some time. Today Kath, friend and vet came and confirmed my decision to help Martha out of life and away from the terrible decline into old age that she had fallen. Although she had drunk a little over the last four days she had eaten little. And so in the warm late summer sun Kath put Martha to sleep in the garden. I was amazed at how quick, how peaceful this was. Pixie sat by our side, her paw on Martha. Max watched from a distance and Elmo got very distracted by the birds on the bird feeders and flung himself up a tree.
Many tears were shed and I went to get a spade to dig a hole. There is something very cathartic about being able to dig and bury and keep close the shells of the cats after life has left them.
First I tried to dig a hole where Martha had been sitting in the warm sun that day. It was a favorite place, beneath the roses, next to the moonjar, warm, sheltered, hidden. And very shallow of soil. I soon hit rock.
Next I thought to place her next to her brother, Arthur, who died years back. So I started to dig and was surprised to find a half brick, and then some duplo toys. I dug a bit further and there was Arthur. Not next to Arthur, but on him! He was a big cat. Even his bones were beautiful. What could be better than for Martha's resting place to be with her brother. Conceived together, they grew in the womb of the same she cat, mother a moggie, father a handsome Siamese filanderer. They grew and were born together and now they would rest together until their bones mingled in the dark soil. So I placed Martha in and covered them both again, and put a heavy slate over them both.

She was a good cat.