The Restory Retreat Centre

Photo: George Angus I put the big cushion on my lap as I sit down. Wordlessly waiting. He knows. How, I do not know, but he knows. I hear him coming in from outside, deliberately  walking down the passage and into the room. I do not see him. I sit with eyes closed. I feel the soft landing as he jumps onto my lap. He kneads the cushion for a moment, purring, and settles in. I fold my hands in prayer around his cold, strong hunter’s body. Gradually, we become one warmth. “But oh! God is in his holy temple! Quiet everyone – a holy silence. Listen!” * * Habakkuk 2:20 (The Message) George

The Red Wheelbarrow so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens. -           William Carlos Williams Mily - Photograph by George Angus Warm night Women writes Man reads Cat chases moths Music from portable radio Outside, the sweltering day leans against open windows, watching listening resting -           George Angus

Photograph by Elliott Erwitt, New York City 1953 We cannot attain the presence of God because we're already totally in the presence of God. What's absent is awareness.                                                                                          David G. Benner In a previous post ( Klein Kaper ) Matilda wrote about the new arrival in the household, the kitten named Patat (Patat being Afrikaans for sweet potato and commonly used as a term of endearment especially where children are concerned). Lately he is often called Tappet as well (Tappet is an English word used in Afrikaans to describe a person somewhat rough around the edges. For some reason “tappet” just does not have a similar meaning in English). Since Matilda introduced him he has g...

Mily, as photographed by Frans Marais I have a cat. No, wrong assumption: The cat is not mine. We cohabit, Mily and I. She loves me like cats do: by choosing my lap for a nap or perching on my hip until I wake to walk her to her bowl. She shows her contentment with our arrangement by sleeping in utter abandonment, stretched out, totally vulnerable totally trusting. I am afraid that I love her too much. That someday she will not be here anymore and I will so miss her weight on my hip as I awake to her purring. She is irreplaceable not being owned by me. She will have shared all of her life with me. That is all. Matilda

The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.                           Carl Sandburg