The Jewel’s Eye (1)
It’s just after six, most of the earth sleeping, still. There’s a hush, a change, a whisper of wind, in the dappled hands, the flurry of motion in the trembling shadows of leaves.
The sun has just lifted, the early skies in a summer of days, a shimmering light and the jewel’s eyes of shining blue.
A few cars in the distance,snake their way, along the curving lanes, under the shoulders of raised fields, between the rolling curves and hidden blinds of hedges.
But here below the roof window, tilted against the heat and early blinks of morning light, a single, solitary cat stretches herself along the edge of the slipping shadows of dawn.
And yawns, as she sees, as every morning, the paper boy lolloping up the hill, pulling a trolly full with newspapers, magazines.
And his dog, with ears flat, tongue out, panting softly, curled on top, lazily viewing the windows of houses, all like eyelids, shut, tight, against the truth of dawn.
Theres a smell of freshly made bread, coffee, mixed with the heavy invisible draping of flowers, blossoms and fragrances, the earth having exhaled under the stars and close of a passing night. The prepares for heat and haze. It’s going to be hot - a real summers day.
Quickly, without stealth or ostentation, the cat walks across the path of the boy, cart and his dog, knowing full well, in that intuitive way that cats do, what will happen next.
It does.
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