Pardon?

Image result for coloured chalk smudges fireworksPardon? It’s all a dream nothing tangible. Faded and pale, smudged edges, smoked lines. Coloured pinpricks like chalk pastel dusting sparkle through the fog making the haze more haze by its very difference. Like before when the world stopped turning. Back then, though, it fired up once more. Will it do the same? Will history echo the future? I cannot say and merely wait to catch it.

(This made perfect sense last night when it wrote itself)

Catching Up – some posts that hadn’t made it this far

img_1400Dogs inhabit a completely separate reality from ours – we try and share, but despite generations of domesticity, they still have that magick sense that we have lost. A world of coloured scents, movement, and enchantment that is no longer ours; trails, that are invisible to us, must glow like stardust to them, sounds enhanced, every nuance absorbed, every eye flicker, every change of heartbeat noted . Our world must seem clumsy and slow to them, our movements deliberate and cumbersome, limbs and minds heavy with stress, the chains of humanhood holding us down. They dance with joy, sing with the delight of centuries of wild heritage behind them, and graciously allow us to join in, then we walk into something, or fall over (neither of which I have done this morning – honest 😉 ) and you can almost feel their sigh of exasperation, before they bundle onto you, and the game begins again. Coffee, study and a day of whoring for business, quill at the ready

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Why is it that whenever I change something – put on a clean top, wear different socks, wash my hair, even wear a different necklace, the dogs insist on a full body inspection (thankfully minus any internals – god knows what they’d find in there)? Today, it was gloves that caused the excitement; Pagan had to sniff me all over before I could put on her collar, img_1348and Hamish ‘oh he of little brain’ had to inspect everything, from sniffing all over my face and hair, to licking my feet before he would accept that the world hadn’t ended just because I was wearing gloves. Seriously dogs, it’s still me, just with gloves – no big deal, m’kay?

 

The only sounds are the crisp snaps of paws on ice-kissed, crunchy leaves; the velvet darkness of the predawn magick unbroken by even the softest birdsong. Sparkling frost covers everything, melting briefly where warm breath brushes it – this little world is still, calm and content. ‘FFS DOGS – NOOOO!’ Ho hum, that’s that then

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