My head is an animal for Monsters and Men

1 Apr 2016

The weather remained on the gloomy side, however we twirled our whiskers and fluffed our fur and scampered forth into the I of the Storm in the gardens botanical to Dirty Our Paws and give praise to the awe-evoking grouping Of Monsters and Men.

Beneath the moisture-heavy skies illuminating yellow clouds, a diverse mass of beasties traversed the damp and flourishing gardens. Curly haired squirrels, noses a quivering, and shaggy Wolves Without Teeth their snouts pointed moonward all laid down enemy instincts and gathered with one single goal in mind: to lay eyes upon our special wild guests.

My head is an animal for Monsters and Men

And when we did lay eyes, an appreciative roar, howl, chirp, cackle resounded through the gardens, for our favourite monsters and men had travelled far to meet and entertain us. From snowy Icelandic fjords these creatures of snow now found themselves on African soil.

The Icelandic beasties sang tales of forest life, ships and heartache. The sounds they made building and swelling before crashing forth into a burst of tribal drumming and sweet trumpet crooning, while we sang along in praise, clapping and stomping our paws in appreciation, letting the gentle rains settle and sparkle on our fur. Even the endemic creatures of the gardens were so moved by the night’s performance they sent a brave praying mantis to bow on stage before them.

Our lion hearts now full of Little Talks, tales and tails with sweet sounds running Beneath The Skin we bid adieu to our Monsters and Men and gently found our way back to humanity through the dark and lush foliage.