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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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Daily Cascade
Since my old blog "Everyday Canvas "  became overfilled, here's a new one. This new blog item will continue answering prompts, the same as the old one.
Cool water cascading to low ground
To spread good will and hope all around.
October 18, 2025 at 12:49pm October 18, 2025 at 12:49pm
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Prompt: Write your entry about supernatural happenings...from the POV of a character’s pet. Have fun!
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Noche's Tale of the Midnight Veil
They called me or rather the jet-black color of my fur, a bad omen. They whispered and clutched their charms when they saw me snoozing on Joy's lap as Joy defended my honor to them. But the truth is, I’m not the one they should fear.
My name is Noche, and I am older than my paws suggest. I’ve had nine lives, possibly even more, though not one of them has truly ended. So, let me tell you a story that happened a long time ago, although I remember it as if it were today; therefore, I'm telling it in the present tense so you experience it as if it's happening at the moment. When you come down to it, what's time, anyway!
Noche's Story:
The Tale of the Midnight Veil
Tonight, the moon sits swollen and pale above the crooked rooftops of our street. Its light stains the fog like milk on ink.
An hour or two ago, as Joy slept, I escaped through the porch door that wasn't quite locked by the pool-man. And I made it into the graveyard.
So now, I prowl along the stone wall that borders the graveyard, my tail flicking in rhythm with the pulse of something I feel beneath the earth. It’s coming awake again, that thing, which sleeps between the tombs.
Humans never notice. They think their candles and prayers keep the dark at bay. They don’t realize how thin the veil is.
But I do. I see the ripples. I hear the whispers.
The air here smells of wet soil, a strange perfume that never belongs to the living. My ears move; there’s a hush in the wind, a gathering pause. Then, from the center of the graveyard, a sigh rises. It's the voice without breath.
"Noche..."
Ah, so she remembers me.
The lady I served centuries ago, when she still wore skin and laughter. She fed me cream by the fire and whispered incantations in my fur. When her heart stopped, she promised to return...and she always keeps her promises.
I slink through the rusted gate, its hinges shrieking like the ghosts here, startled awake. The fog thickens, curling around my paws as if it knows my name, too. Shadows stretch long and I see her. She's half-formed, glimmering like silver through the mist.
“Still guarding the threshold, little one?” Her voice sounds like falling leaves.
“Someone must,” I reply, though she hears my thoughts, not my voice. Then I circle her, holding my tail high.
Her smile is a memory of warmth. “The veil weakens. They will come through soon.”
“They already have,” I say. “Three nights ago, I chased a shadow through the backyard. It had too many eyes.”
“You’ve always been my good hunter.” She tilts her head.
The wind picks up. A clock strikes midnight somewhere beyond the trees, and the veil shudders. The cracks are forming now, thin fractures of light and darkness. The seam between worlds tear like old silk.
Shapes begin to crawl out. They are shadows with the memory of limbs. They are whispers clothed in hunger. They sense her, and they sense me. I arch my back and hiss. The fur along my spine crackles with static.
The Lady raises her hand, “Guard it,” she commands. “Until dawn.” Then she leaves, her glow sinking into the ground like moonlight into water.
I leap to the highest gravestone, my eyes burning in gold. The creatures swarm below, dripping through cracks in the night. Their voices sound like rain on glass. I slash at the nearest one, and it recoils, hissing. Then it folds in on itself. They fear me, as they should.
By the time the first bird sings, the veil has sealed again. The air still hums, but the danger has passed. I sit upon the stone, licking my paw clean, though the darkness clings to me like smoke.
Soon, the humans will wake and see me perched among their dead, and they’ll whisper about bad luck and curses.
Let them.
They will never know how many times the world almost ended. They’ll never know it was a black cat named Noche who stood between them and the dark.
And now, I'll head back to Joy, who always loved me, who never forgot me...even after I died for the last time.
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you, WW! I give out full size bars, too.
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