Friday 10 February 2012

Superhero Rose & talks with Aslan

You never know what you're going to get when an email from Rayment Kirby arrives in your inbox. I'm a bit in love with these. The first one casts me as an angelic, peace-giving Superhero (well, that's my interpretation of it anyway!), gently administering good will and benevolence to all humanity below. Ha. This should probably be on my business cards (ya know, the ones I rarely remember to actually give out). Seriously though, I love this image! Thanks Rayment.


I love the second one too - so warming to look at in our current snowy conditions! I wonder what hot havoc I'm stirring up.

And now, to cool things down again quite considerably, here is how beautiful the woodland park where I live is looking at the moment (OK, I don't actually live in the forest, though I did see a tent there recently which made me sad... Seriously, I would HATE to be homeless at the moment. Well, ever; but particularly now). Such a perfect scene for Narnia-esque imaginations...








Finally, an irrelevant and unnecessary facial appearance from my cat, Sascha Tom, aka Mr Fluffy Bum/King Fluffalot/'my darling big boy' (sometimes I address his highness as the latter in earshot of my not-quite-boyfriend, to freak him out for my own amusement), mostly due to his particular talent in the heft and fluff departments.

Well, I had to test out my new camera with a willing (lazy) subject, didn't I? He has been following me around obsessively for the last few days, maintaining entire conversations with me around the subject of 'Meeuugh' and 'Meeuh?'. He's a rescue cat, and couldn't purr for years (or perhaps he was hard to please and wanted us to earn the audible evidence of his pleasure), but now, I'm happy to say, he is an accomplished maker of the rumbling throat music. He also once tried to follow me into the bath (though changed his mind in mid-air and managed a sharp reverse). He's cool. I love him a lot. Look at his lion face.
I've had so many dreams about Aslan appearing (only to stare at me, wisely; he doesn't tend to say much, after all) in my backgarden. Those precious moments normally serve to punctuate the episodes of intense warfare where I (with bafflingly extensive abilities to be violent) have to single-handedly save the world or run and hide (usually through rivers or in caves; I think my unconcscious mind is a few centuries behind current events) from world-destroying bastards. It can go either way.