Engrossed in my writing, at our home for waifs and strays, I didn’t see the sky on fire until it was ablaze. For a moment I was mesmerised by the sheer beauty of something so natural. I wondered if I could capture it on canvas, seeing as reds are my favourite colours....but I am no match for the real thing, so I watched until the fire burnt out.  Thankfully, I had time to take a photo to share with my readers.

     As I watched I remembered a saying from Shakespeare’s Venus & Adonis (1593) that went like this.....

"Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd wreck to the seaman - sorrow to shepherds."

But as for the red sky at night, there will be a good chance of fine weather as the clouds are in the east and would already have passed us by.

     It’s dark again and behind me a different fire burns and the smell of logs fill the cosy room. I notice a silence...not eerie, not lonely, just a silence that lingers around the house. Hurry up morning so I can hear the birds and see out of my window again!

It has been a long day, but a day I will treasure more than any other this week.

     It began very early with a visit to my mother’s grave. I wanted her to know that out of everyone who has entered my life, no-one could ever take her place. I wanted to tell her that no matter how far in the world I went; I knew that she was with me. But above all, I wanted to thank her for being the woman she was, brave, strong and extremely patient and that I will always love her!

      Then from the little church I went to visit an old lady who also played a very big part in my life. She was not my mother but she helped me to grow in many ways. Never having had children herself, she took great pleasure in advising me on many things. Because of her, I went to university and was able to make a living for myself.

      My next step was to another lady who also has a motherly role in my life. She was so pleased to see me and we chatted over a cup of sweet tea. I couldn’t help but wonder at how lucky in life I have been. But there was more to come.

      Back at our home for waifs and strays, the afternoon was full of laughter and stories as the family gathered and tucked into a huge picnic of home produced food.

      The house is quiet again now...the cats are sleeping by the fire and my very dear and unassuming husband is reading in his chair. I am at my desk looking out at the dark evening. Somewhere out there the hens are tucked in and Jako and Jake are (hopefully) hunting. Life goes on no matter what...and I am so glad that it does.

       Goodnight my friends...remember always, that it is later than you think!

And when I am tired I'll nestle my head
In the bosom that's soothed me so often,
And the wide-awake stars shall sing, in my stead,
A song which our dreaming shall soften.
So, Mother-my-Love, let me take your dear hand,
And away through the starlight we'll wander,--
Away through the mist to the beautiful land,--
The Dreamland that's waiting out yonder.

‘Come on out little wormy, I’m going to eat you!’ said the seagull charmingly, to the unsuspecting worm.

      The wee little worm didn’t hear the voice of the big bad bird, it only heard the pitter patter of its feet. Thinking that the rain had come, the wee little worm raised its head from the ground and......well you can guess what happened!

    Love them or hate them, seagulls are taking over the world...or at least the seaside. They wake us in the morning with their screeching and screaming and although my kind and unassuming husband detests the creatures, calling them scavengers, I find them quite fascinating.

    I looked out of the window one day and saw a seagull dancing on the lawn. It was really quite amusing. At first, I didn’t realise it was trying to fool the worm below that it was raining. Many a poor worm will eventually succumb to the tease and became another victim in a world full of greedy predators.  But I still cannot bring myself to curse this, or any other creature...well not for long anyway!

    Although having a slightly imperfect reputation, the seagulls make wonderful parents. They pair for life and will take turns, caring and feeding for their chicks. Surely this must give them some points, plus the fact that many of these extremely intelligent birds live up to twenty years or more.  

    In Native America, the seagull represents a carefree attitude, versatility and freedom. Perhaps that is why I sympathise with these black listed creatures and their way of life....although I do not condone much of their cunning behaviour.

    And to end the tale I began....

    ......I ran from the house and rescued it!

All sorts of weird and wonderful creatures take shelter at our home for waifs and strays and sometimes weird and wonderful things happen. Take worms for instance. You would think they would be happy to stay underground, but we’ve discovered that they often prefer the comfort of our wormery. But one day, something happened which could have resulted in a crime investigation.

     First, let me tell you what a wormery is. This is a very simple environmentally friendly home for worms. It is furnished with such things as cooked and uncooked food waste, egg cartons and shredded paper which will eventually rot down to produced black gold!  This is the highest quality compost you will ever see, plus....wait for it, the worm juice. This is a liquid feed you can use for indoor and outdoor plants. It is worth informing you at this stage in the story that a wormery does not smell, as long as you avoid putting fish in it.

     Well back to the tale! At the bottom of our wormery there’s a tap, used to collect the worm juice. I was quiet surprised at the amount of liquid feed I managed to get for our plants. I saved the first lot of liquid in a wine bottle and forgot where I put it. This did not matter, as there was plenty more to come.

     A  year later, a friend of mine dashed into our home for waifs and strays and asked if I had a bottle of wine she could take to a party. You see, the village shop was shut. She knew that my kind and unassuming husband sometimes dabbles in the making of this beverage so I shouted from upstairs, that she could help herself but I didn’t think there was any there.

      A short while later she shouted up the stairs that she‘d found a bottle and went merrily off to the party. I thought nothing more of it, until the following morning when the phone rang.

     ‘What on earth was that awful wine you gave me last night?’ It was my friend speaking.

     ‘I can’t say,’ I replied innocently, ‘I didn’t see the bottle you took.’

     ‘Well it nearly killed some of the guests!’ she sounded stressed. ‘That kind and unassuming husband of yours should take up golf and leave the winemaking alone!’

     I was shocked to hear her talk of my dear husband in such a way. I have never participated in the drinking of alcohol so I could not say if it was good or not. Before I could say another word she continued.

     ‘I tried adding lemonade to it but quite frankly it stunk worse than anything I have ever smelt before. I think it was poison!’

     I suddenly remembered where I had put the worm juice!

Just like the tale of A Chicken called Sandwich over on my ‘small page’, we once had a sheep called Sandwich too.

I found Sandwich (named because there was more meat on a sandwich than on the poor lamb) in a field, close to death. It was obvious that he couldn’t walk though he did try to stand. I went to tell the farmer, but was told he had died that morning. The family informed me that they would see to the lamb straight away. I trusted this would happen, but a gut feeling told me to check on this the following day. Sandwich was still there and still suffering.

     So I went to the farm again and told them about the lamb.

     ‘I will take the lamb myself if that would help you!’ I said to the obviously grieving family.

     ‘Take it!’ was the reply and so that’s exactly what I did.

     Without even consulting my kind and unassuming husband, I carefully laid the tiny lamb on the front seat of my car and drove home. I didn’t stop to consider what I would do with it, apart from taking it to the vets for a check up.

      Back at our home for waifs and strays, we were greeted by three fat cats and a curious husband.

      ‘I have something on my front seat that is very precious,’ I said seriously, ‘and there was nothing I could do but to bring it home.’

      My kind and unassuming husband opened the door and stared at the little lamb sleeping contentedly on my coat. He picked him up gently and without questions, carried him into the house.

      ‘We have to take him to the vet,’ I said, so I went inside and called him.

      With the help and advice from the vet on the phone, Sandwich soon had a bottle of proper lamb’s milk and a lot of love. He looked at us and bleated whilst his black woolly tail wagged. He couldn’t walk but I took it that he was feeling a lot better.

      But later that day, the vet x-rayed poor Sandwich and we learnt that his back was broken, probably hit by a car. We decided to let Sandwich stay in this world until the following morning, with the help of pain relief, so that he would know what love and kindness was before being put to sleep.

      Although Sandwich lived such a short while, even the daffodils lived longer, he died peacefully, knowing someone cared.