The day began with a pearl pale light, a shimmer of sky, a luster. Almost at once the sky cleared to bright blue, clouds blew away and the world shone bright. Then change again as the pearl returned, storm clouds gathered.
The wind came first as a whisper, a touch on the last leaves of summer, a stroke across the long grass. In the hedge by the house the full bird feeders began to sway and the bright birds flew in and were whipped away again by the invisible hand of the wind.
We curled tight in the warm as the wind began to rise.
First a whisper, then a sigh, a call from far then a shout, until the wind rose from a shout to a scream and the windcat shook and rocked at the house, curling its claws under the tiles, rattling the bones of the house, shaking her like a cat shakes a mouse, like a ship lost at sea.
And we curled in the warm in different rooms, each lost in our own dream. We let the storm rage.
And She painted moon-eyed owl in Her studio, content in her solitude.