Guglielmo

Dusk is the time to look at the magnolia stellata. And in the light just before dawn. Those were his favourite times in the garden; when all the prey was at its most vulnerable a glowing cream shape would materialise from the gloaming and rake a deadly claw through dinner or breakfast.

I look down from my window at dawn and at dusk at his present manifestation, a lesser form of being on the wheel of existence than he enjoyed, to pay no doubt for all those little birds and voles consumed.

And yet, still he is the Angel of the Burning Bush, who came with me out of the land of taxation and oppression, and into the land of CAP subsidies and grants for solar panels.