The words which once busied themselves in my heart and mind, words which jostled, bubbled up and spilled out into chatter and onto the empty page are all silent and still. I try to follow the path to the place where they are held, but I can’t remember the way, or the connection, or something.
What I do is dig, clear ground, push myself hard and then harder; moving earth, feeling the weight of soil and stone. The digging started with having to dig a grave for my beloved cat Otto, who died on Tuesday June 2nd.
Out in the garden which Otto and I shared together, I labour alone with a heart which feels leaden. As the light fades, the village Church bells ring, as they do every Tuesday evening. A poignant and touching tribute to a cat who wandered into my life as a stray 3 years ago and who will never be forgotten.