Two trees have grown up inside a roll of rusted sheep fence. This woodland was once a pasture; cows and sheep stomped their feet and flicked their tails here at the emerging black flies. This abandoned fencing a sign of uncharacteristic waste—I wonder what dire emergency called the farmer from the field, and prevented his return.
I look at the picture, I read what you have written and I wonder about the beauty around, right in front of us. When I stare at this picture, I see a cat in a cage, her tail up in the air, head hidden behind the tree. Is she real?