Don't cry, baby, don't cry, don't cry

When I hear about bad things happening, I sometimes have to go and clutch my collie tightly and cry into his fur. Last night, very late, this happened, and he was sound asleep in the hallway. My approach woke him, and as I crouched to hug him his head snapped up and whacked me hard on the bridge of my nose. It still hurts. I suppose it gave me an excuse for crying if I needed another.

Later, I dreamed. I dreamed I was at an animal shelter; one that could probably only exist in dreams, full of happy creatures of many different species confidently awaiting the new homes that they were assured of. The human workers were working their arses off to make it happen; but they were succeeding, smiling because working hard at something you love is no hardship.

Many of my friends were there, though Blaidd and Erin are the only ones I can definitely put names to now that I'm awake.

One of the things this place was doing was breeding peregrines for release into the wild. (I know, but it was a dream, after all.) Shelter workers were packing near-fledged falcons into travelling boxes to be taken to their release sites - dozens of them, crates full of bloom-dusted brown feathers and blue beaks and big dark eyes. When the boxes were full, they would tape poems on the inside of the lids, so the falcons would take the words with them into the sky.

Fly high and go with love.

Don't cry, baby, don't cry, don't cry

When I hear about bad things happening, I sometimes have to go and clutch my collie tightly and cry into his fur. Last night, very late, this happened, and he was sound asleep in the hallway. My approach woke him, and as I crouched to hug him his head snapped up and whacked me hard on the bridge of my nose. It still hurts. I suppose it gave me an excuse for crying if I needed another.

Later, I dreamed. I dreamed I was at an animal shelter; one that could probably only exist in dreams, full of happy creatures of many different species confidently awaiting the new homes that they were assured of. The human workers were working their arses off to make it happen; but they were succeeding, smiling because working hard at something you love is no hardship.

Many of my friends were there, though Blaidd and Erin are the only ones I can definitely put names to now that I'm awake.

One of the things this place was doing was breeding peregrines for release into the wild. (I know, but it was a dream, after all.) Shelter workers were packing near-fledged falcons into travelling boxes to be taken to their release sites - dozens of them, crates full of bloom-dusted brown feathers and blue beaks and big dark eyes. When the boxes were full, they would tape poems on the inside of the lids, so the falcons would take the words with them into the sky.

Fly high and go with love.