Leggings - Past 2 a.m.

Past 2 a.m.


The night explodes into action.  A loud motor, loud voices, thudding footsteps and people downstairs – it’s the fallout time for returners from the factories come home to roost.  What are they doing here?  Have we another Italian family who cannot live apart – and have formed their own warren to live safely in their pile of bodies.  As their history predicts, they have sentries posted throughout the building, read mind and actions for danger and report back discrepancies.  Danger is too imminent to be ignored.

They are deeply angry and disturbed, someone has shut a door.  There is a loss of an outlet.  They blame me – they mutter on about their lost innocents who made the door open.  It appears without them the world is closing against them.

Early the morning before there was a small deer in the garden.  It stood on sentry guard by the tree.  Every muscle on the edge of flight.  Two minutes later I saw it take off and beside it a large black cat ran.  The two of them were either playing a game or he was hunting her.  The cat was a thin black, heavily scarred scraggy moggy, the small deer almost bambi.  Later Bambi came back to the tree alone.  The cat had gone.   It appears that even when the dice are loaded, one can escape.  Sometimes survival depends on one’s own nature. 

Book 3 is still being tidied up:  the end isn’t right so I’m re-writing it to get to the place I want to be in.  There is now a reason to write book 4 if I get there.  Unfortunately, the covers I worked so hard on, and was happy with, have disappeared.  They were the first files I saved to disc when I changed computers for a larger screen and I cannot find them.  In the end it means more art work to be created or using a free cover site, and I know that probably means the art work will be better than mine.  Also more predictable, and that’s the thing with doing it yourself, it’s the strange unpredictability of what one produces – the way in which I see the worlds