As he is in my memory, Handsome Red
Two of our horses were in the dream, the Arabians, both of whom perished last year. So, too, the miscreant aptly named Pyewacket— a fierce disagreeable little cat whose provenance is known only inasmuch as she is the progeny of one of the feral cats that took up residence in the barn a few years ago.
I was trying to connect with the horses at turns. But my Night shade was finding them, not the real me— a defensive version, relating to Pye; always the trickster version,
It spooked and scared the horses, the gentle kind— So they told me, in their way, I must find them as myself.
I whispered in my sleep “I don’t know how.”
And Red somehow telegraphed the message to me through what technology he found in that place, it told me
When the stars are going out—
And you’re looking for a face before you leave—
Make it mine.”
And I tried like hell to escape the deep molasses of sleep, to find him; to remember— To shake it all off and just recall that one moment, of him.
Him, merged with my childhood; Magic; the Elysian Fields, the Farm— the Infinite; revisiting me. And I did, sort of— but he was talking about when the Stars Go Out. So I’ll meet him when I die.
I have to wait. (I’ll always look for his face.)
Animals are the closest I get to religion.
. . .
Later on, I painted that little sketch of him. Here’s the one I did when he passed:
And here’s one of Red and Comet, our red and black Arabian gentlemen:
Late night at the farm; window open upstairs and a squeaking distant sound of coyotes through the cricket-song. Tig hears them too. They seek the feral cats that live around here (dinner). The new kitten, Piwaket, was one of same; a runt or cast-off, living on her own and scrappy as hell; my mother finally caved and took her in (she always does in these cases).
Said tiny has been cordoned off from Wolf and Tig, as she is so very small and fearless, and they play rough. (She does, too, but so small!) Wolf was taken from his mum too young, so lacks some of what wisdom she’d have imparted (for example a sense of scale), and T is very just-so, though he holds his own with Wolf. In fact, T has avoided this new kitten of his own accord (he can leap the half Dutch door), but since I’ve arrived he’s gone in and spent some time disciplining the little monster. She needs it; separated from / abandoned by her mum too early as well— she pushes too far, has no inkling of danger. I’m happy to see T going in to swat at her, teach her limitations. For her sake, and ‘cause I’ve missed him. He’s been absent. He often is, but more so with her around. When I’m here he generally spends time upstairs, where I stay, and he didn’t at all yesterday.