Sitting with a black coffee this morning, from the corner of my eye I saw a flash of grey amongst the dying, rain soaked leaves. Like a grey ghost a squirrel moved sinuously. Silently. Weaving like silver mist in and out amongst the hydrangea bushes, pausing for seconds to test the air. I clearly saw his small black glinting eyes, his gossamer tail arched and his tiny, sniffing nose. He moved like a breath, barely stirring the grasses. Beside me, the tabby cat also saw him. She crouched low, mesmerized, perfectly still, watching him move towards the dark heart of the garden. Then in one sleek movement she left through the cat-flap and seconds later she disappeared into the long grasses and the rain soaked autumn leaves.
'The bad news is time flies,
The good news is, you're the pilot.