What I Remember

 

A stream, somewhere in Connemara,

working its way through strewn boulders,

over a mosaic of rust-coloured stones.

The thousand sounds of water, finding

its races constantly blocked, celebrating

 boisterously its thousand victories.

The percussion of its falling into pools

isolated in hollows beneath the rocks;

a deeper tock under the spray’s sibilance.

The sprightliness of  mountain flow

through the gentle, soft greenery

of the fields beneath the slopes.

The exuberance of those waters rushing

through the channels of a young boy’s heart;

rushing still.

Once on Ardmore Beach

I’ve been walking the moon’s bright path over the sea

from Ardmore beach for too many years.

My notion of the magical: waves coming ashore

like the game we played as children,

a hand slapping down as the one beneath slips away.

The sound of the waves rounding a headland into the distance;

another time, another world.

The beacons on the far shore flashing, as remote, as poignant

as the piping of waders lost in the pockets of darkness.

Our last night.

And a glittering moonlit highway through it all,

in dreams we’d walk it, looking the moon full in the face, laughing,

magnified, colossal, in all that wilderness.

Gorumna Island, 360 degrees Connemara Landscape

I'd forgotten about this snippet of video from a walk in September 2006. Pass through the island of Lettermore over the bridge onto Gorumna Island. A stunning part of county Galway and away from the worst excesses of tourism. My dancing's rough, so is the terrain but isn't it beautiful. Kay on camera. Reminds me, it's about time for another visit.