TalesAndTails

One eye gold, the other sky,
What do you see as time slips by?
Do worlds unfold that I can't name,
In shadow's hush or candle flame?

You do not speak, you do not stray—
But still, I feel you see the way.

White cat lies where silence grows,
In morning’s threadbare, woven rows.
A whisper caught in fur and grace,
The hush of thought upon her face.

She does not doze. She does not stir.
The room adjusts itself to her.
Pillowed flanks and patterned throne,
Still as marble, soft as bone.

Behind her, shadows stitched in black—
Twin cats that never blink or track.
But she is real: a breath, a flame,
A thing too present to have a name.

She watches not with fear, but right—
As if the world obeys her sight.
No need to hunt, no need to flee—
The moment bends to her decree.

Cat hair on my breakfast plate,
Cat hair on my best friend's date!
Cat hair on my brand-new chair—
Cat hair, cat hair, EVERYWHERE!

Cat hair in my morning joe,
Cat hair where my socks should go.
Cat hair in my Sunday stew,
Cat hair in my shampoo too!

I brushed and scrubbed, I swept and sprayed,
I vacuumed till the carpet frayed!
But still it floats, it flits, it flies,
It sneaks into my apple pies.

“Good kitty,” I beg, “just shed no more!”
The cat just yawns upon the floor.
With a twitch of her tail and a smug little stare,
She leaves me more…
Cat hair, cat hair, EVERYWHERE!

Sometimes, something small in the backyard can stop you in your tracks.

My wife grows straw flowers—those bright, crisp blooms that somehow look like they were made of sunshine and paper. They don’t wilt like other flowers. When you cut them and hang them to dry, they keep their color, their shape, their presence. Even time seems to step back and let them be.

And I realized something the other day.

That’s her.

She still calls me darling after all these years. She keeps our home going, keeps the cats fed and spoiled, and somehow moves through each day with this quiet grace that doesn’t ask for credit.

The flowers she grows are beautiful. But they’re only echoes of the woman who planted them. The real miracle is her.

So if you see someone growing something beautiful in their yard—maybe it’s more than a garden. Maybe it’s love that knows how to last.

Love ya babe! ❤️

Welcome! Here's a quick one to start the community!

White cat sleeps in quiet light,
Blanket warm and moon just right.
Black cat watches, always near-
In his dreams or curled ear to ear.

Soft as stars and brave as flame,
Guardian shadow, without name.
Sleep, sweet snow, no need to roam.
Your angel's here to guide you home.