Feather Canyons Everywhere
Posted: Wednesday, 23 August 2006
Bows and flows of angel hair, icecream castles in the air, feather canyons everywhere, I've looked at clouds that way............... Now, it does not bother me that they deigneth not to rain over Rolling Acres, for dry earth does a Feline Toilet make, but the Head Gardener is creating a stooshie over her empty butts, and three hours of hosing over Circular Lupin Bed merely dampened the surface and made no impression on the underlying dust. Where have all the raindrops gone, long time ago? Or so it seems. The Olearia bushes are laden with clotted cream, the first Rowan berries have coloured up scarlet, echoed by Crocosmia Lucifer; peachy potentillas and citrusy yellow innulas clash with lilacy-pink Japanese anemones and arching purple spires of Buddleia Black Knight and the remaining honeysuckle blossoms; immense green fronds and yellow umbellifers of fennel are bursting out over pale pink geraniums and the hot oranges of pot marigolds vie with geranium Orkney Pink opposite New Circular Bed, or, as we like to call it, Le Nouveau Pissoir des Chats. Petit Pannier du Chat has been taken back up into cupboard-in-the-roof after my most recent meresin blong stick - oh alright, booster jab for the linguistically challenged, and, for the benefit of Mr Kite, or mjc, it cost £24:80, which didn't include protection against feline leukemia, because the bipeds are too darn mean to pay the extra squids. Seemingly we're not worth it. Huh!!!!!!!! My blog has not happened since a long time because my ammanuensis was slaving over a hot kettle in a local tearoom - one just cannot get the staff these days. Fortunately, it was for but a short time, as the bishop said to the actress, and I am now online once more. Especially as it is not a weekend. Ahem. Otherwise, could be problematic. Posting of photographs of moi and Rolling Acres is postponed, as Tech Support in the Great Wen is newly a) engaged and b) homeless on someone else's floor, temporarily, and is therefore contemplating all his lovely computery stuff not plugged into anything in boxes. Stoicism is an exclusively bipedal characteristic, foreign to cats. Live for the moment, for tomorrow flings the fickle fangs of foul fate into the bowl of Knight. Or something. I'm off out into the crepuscularity to stalk les grenouilles!
Posted on Flying Cat at 20:55