Effie’s sanguinity affirms that one has a home so that one can have a cat and a garden: the first is to work for, the other is to work in.
I have been a very poor press agent for her. I was caught off guard by her near lightspeed hurdle over and across a three-foot-wide raised garden bed this afternoon. I was simply too transfixed by her ease and grace to catch the micro-moment leap with my camera as she bounded through the midst of the feathery larkspur foliage.
Sailing over the bed of budding larkspurs, blooming flax, grapes in bud, and turnips, her confident, eyes-front expression was that of a mastermind. All four of her legs were fully extended and her calculus was perfect. The photo that got away remains imprinted on my mind.
Another pleasant garden image not photographed presented itself Saturday afternoon. As I listened with my Walkman to Thistle and Shamrock on NPR, Effie made twisting leaps in the air catching bugs, and continuing intermittently to excavate the Tunnel to the End of the Universe, which I presume she suspects harbors a rodent denizen in its unseen depths.
These large raindrops on the poppy leaves remind me of moonstones.
This larkspur, aka delphinium, is the first to bloom, but hundreds are budding.
Our beautiful, sanguine tabby tornado. . .