Sunday, February 21, 2010

I wish these rosaries away

At this Irish wishing well, said to have been discovered by Oscar Wilde but probably ancient, is where my soul always take a slightly pagan turn. Are there faeries over there in the mist and why do I feel intoxicated?

Sadly, the wishing tree has been vandalised. The ribbons and trinkets tied to it by hundreds of wishful people have been removed and tacky plastic rosaries stuck to it instead. That is just wrong.

My wish: May this place always be home and may I keep returning.

Near a tree by a river there's a hole in the ground
where an old man of Aran goes around and around...

Thursday, February 11, 2010

at Peace of Mind Beach, Ireland

I picked a red and white stone on an Irish beach. The wind was wintry but mild to skin that is used to northern climes. The gentle softness of the air felt like home.

Acrid and wonderful smell of turf fire. The knowledge that after our walk, there would be a cup of hot tea. Soothing voice of the sea in deep winter. A quiet rain that does no harm.

A lost dog ran past us while we discussed deep secrets only shared by friends. Muscled men with surfing boards braved the cold water and someone was riding a white horse where the sea met the sand. The sun glinted between clouds in a reddish sunset.

"Can we stop at Tesco's on the way home?"
"Yes, I want to get some Cadbury's Crème Eggs. And white chocolate chip cookies. All the good stuff... Let's do a TV dinner tonight and get a bottle of wine!"

And literally, not a care in the world.