WEST CORK ALIVE
It is the time of year when along the small ditches of West Cork all kinds of birds are nesting. Wild flowers from violas to saxifrages tuck their bottoms onto crevasses of stone walls and make camp. The furze and white thorn make exceedingly good scent in late evening. Spring is here along with the swallows.
The recession has not touched the budding branches, the mating birds, the wild horses and the shifting sands. The breath of the land sneezes at such nonsense. There is a quivering intelligence setting up shop in the intrigue of life that showers country soil.
I am amid the hub bub of earthly things. A mountain named Kid smirks it’s ancestry at my red car passing. I stop and listen to the mountain poetry. On my walk each footfall is a sin to the natural sounds around me which include nonstop bird songs, a small stream, bleating lambs and the buzz of a bumble bee going about its business. In the sky overhead ravens dance a courting display.
Mesmerized I am hypnotized.
Maggie Cahill Tel 0872167182