Thursday, June 8, 2017


As pipes catch the foxhunt and the whistle the blackbird, the bodhrán catches the sounds of country-life. A good bodhrán player plays like he's left the window open on life long ago.



Tick of spokes
Tap of bones
Swish of rushes
Slap of stones.

Needles flicking reel-rhythm,
Stitches mesmerized into obedience.

Scythe in the grass,
Shovel in the clay,
Flail on the corn,
Pitchfork hay.

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