I must tell you it wasn’t an extraordinary day.  An old man in a hat walked around the yard.  A boy sat in a chair.  Then a cold wind came down the boney back of the mountain.

But what was I expecting?  The cat stared out the window as wind tossed the branches about and   eagles circled the chickens next door.   I watched the golden burning light sift through the curtains.  How beautiful it made the cat.  In the dying light she rose up and walked through  soft folds of amber.

It is heavenly like this at the end of the day, when black enfolds the mountain and dust falls back to earth.   Stars fill the blank black sky.  Then the  cat curls into the corner and  fire licks the wood to ash.