A couple of days ago, I posted an art journal entry titled Guardians of a Time Portal. Just what are my two cats doing when they're sleeping their time away amongst the roses on the driveway, I asked?
My friend,Judy Gosnell was able to answer that question in a flash. That gal is a natural when it comes to time travel. What era other than ancient Egypt, when cats were worshipped properly, would a cat consider worthy of her guardianship?
Stop on by our driveway the next time you're in the mood to join Pharohs retinue. Just don't forget a little offering of mackerel to placate the guardian at the gate.
Clearly our furry companion Olivia, sees herself as a later day Bastet. It's certainly nice of her to spend so much time in the modern era when she could be chasing mice through Pharoh's graneries. I feel honored.
No, not honored enough to open up ANOTHER can of mackarel. You can wait until breakfast-time, Olivia.
I created the illustration above in Photoshop, using photos I took at the British Museum. In four trips to London we've never missed a visit to that delicious treasure trove.
I used to think my kitties were just sleeping their day away in the sun. But just recently I learned that they are actually the guardians of a local time portal. In their case a little donation, of the right sort, will get me farther than just on to my back door without suffering a swipe on the ankle.
Click on the illustration above to try a spin with this portal
The Old Rose Cathedral Window
of Durnsmuir Haugh
Most of yon stained glass winders were taken down in Cromwell's Time. But there was somethin' about this yer 'un that did foil even the most determined of them Reformers. They do say as three different Roundheads tried to take her down, and all three died in the trying. It was a woman who convinced 'em to just leave her be. The Red Rose of Durnsmuir, folks 'round here call her.
The womenfolk 'round here do say the Red Rose, she's got powers. Codswallop sez I, tis just an old Rose winder, pretty though she may be when the light shines through her panes, especially so on the night of a neaps tide.
And though sometimes when those days do come when there's bare a tick o' difference betwtixt the ebb and flow, I do think I see the old Red Rose spinning with the wind, And then, well I just puts that down to the ale at the Swallow and Dove, and I go home by 'tother road.