My written words

Blank paper. My hand scribbles words. The paper becomes the white wall of the garden, suddenly scrawled with leaf prints as the sun emerges. I can choose permanence for my words, but I can also store the memory of the leaf prints - to become words.

Cat

Cat. Here is a cat. No doubt, another cat will spring into your mind. This cat is pretty. It could well have been scary; in fact hairy and scary.





This is comfortable cat.






Out there is a veritable world of cats, besides those in your mind; enormous cats, tiny cats cats, cats courageous and bold; timid cats, fast cats and cats that are ailing and old.


Look at T.S. Eliot's 'Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats'.


Cat is a word universal and personal; a word that is emotive in its very being, depending on your liking or loathing - and, possibly, not much in between.

A thought

Sometimes, I feel like The Iron Man as I chew and crunch on words as he chewed and crunched metal. Yum!