Cage in a Cave

"Fletcher Christian, he found him a cave
It was sort of a privacy place, When he'd go there nobody could find him

Fletcher Christian, he found him a cave, and he'd go there to be alone
He'd paint a picture, he'd comb his hair
Anything to relieve his depression

Fletcher Christian, he'd go to his cave when he needed to be alone "
-"Cage in a Cave" lyrics by Rasputina

Indeed, just like Mr. Christian, I have been a true hermit myself for these past months.
The dark grass my bed, the freshly dug cave my house.
Birds and spiders my friends.
The distinct panther's cry my night companion.
Flowers and twigs now scruffily embroider my hair.
Awaken by the sun. Going to bed at dusk.
I spend my time embellishing the cave's walls; painting some new friends onto it.
Life has certainly been delightful. I couldn't possibly ask for more.

Still, it was only so long before I felt like reinserting myself back into society. Therefore, I came back to my family house and my relatives. I can't say they weren't thunderstruck when they saw me knocking on their door. I reckon the dried flowers, twigs and spiderwebs tangled in my then mane-like hair didn't make the best of impressions.
Perhaps, it was my 'Hello, Mother and Father' growl they didn't quite understand... ( ´ A `U)

Either way, here I am again. Hair washed and face wiped. No dried flowers to be seen.
I feel almost human again!
...Good thing I still remember how to use the silverware...!
...and the computer, as you may have already noticed! (*￣▽￣)ノ☆

So, how have you been, dearest followers? Any exciting summer stories you'd like to share with me?
Tell me!
I promise I still am 100% civilized & won't bite/growl at you! d(*＾-＾*)b

In the Garden of Orphin

Welcome to my territories, young adventurers!

These are my sacred domains, in which I reign supreme and away from the outside world. The caterpillars are my loyal vassals. The butterflies are my graceful dancers waiting to entertain me as they fly through the air. Black spiders are my brave chassoes, always keeping my dobby white flowers safe from the unworthy glazzies.

Back there lives a white tiger, as well. He keeps my garden a secret. He tells me stories about the world. He makes me company whenever nobody even notices me. He is my droog. He is my best friend.

Would anybody believe the fun I have in there? Perhaps I don't play games, nor jump like a child whenever I go there, (that would not be the correct Royal etiquette) but, just the mere fact of breathing some secret fresh air, or looking at the unwanted flowers growing in there makes me feel alive. And happy. And in peace.

The wind itself comes and sings me warbles. Bees come buzzing the latest news from a distant prairie. They seem to enjoy playing with my hair. We have picnics sometimes, based merely in the delicious, sladky smell of hot spring air. Big crows come and wait for me to read them some books. We've read Faust two times already.

I may do as I want. I am free to dream. I am free to breathe. I am finally free.

I love looking at the sky. That is my favorite thing to do.

Whoever said spiders were not dobby photographers?