During my last visit to the Dingle Peninsula I wrote the following:
TODAY’S SONG: SONG OF IRELAND: MARY BLACK
His eyes shine in the setting sun. The earlier storm has crossed the land now. All that remains is dewy mist hovering above parallel ridges to the west.
He remembers the Peninsula, their walk along the shore, her mouth in a space of time. All tone and tint, the Irish evening settling over the ancient land. Patches of blue, grey clouds clinging to the sky like wet rags, black clouds moving like a swift river. The wind coming to rest.
He’s home again, walking through grass-knitted dunes along the coast, its paths bathed in light and shadow. Beyond him, the gentle landscape sweeping down to a craggy shoreline, into the shadowy water of the Atlantic Sea. Pastel colored houses line steep narrow lanes. Whitewashed buildings, turf roofs. The smell of peat, burning, hanging on a breeze, acrid.
She waits in a darkened pub.
Nestled in a snuggery, closer than imaginable, his life in her eyes. The sad songs cease.
Later, moonlight enters in silence. The feint beautiful lines in her forehead, her body glistening, naked beside him. She leans into him. Her mouth, the scent of dreams, fragments of life and one evening. They fuse together into a timeless moment of supreme love.
Dancing, morning light rising o’er Silabh Mish.
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