By Lough Mask

Take me to the where the wild grasses grow.The tilt and stretch, to the wisp-whispers and rattle – A-tap-tap-tapping, feverish shake of coil or single strand.

 

 

 

Take me to where the misshapen rocks reside. Hollowed out bolts of limestone,toothed slate and Connemara ribbon walls.To the glug-glug gurgle of the singing limestone.And yes – the tango of the yellow butterflies.

Take me to where the trout leap high.Up past the surface to where in one full twist a rainbow gifts hues I cannot name. And so the ripples close.

Take me to where the hawthorn and furze, the sloe and blackberry, pepper the air. To where the marsh marigolds light the turlough like May fireflies.

Take me to where the anglers troll Lough Mask. Men yapping on an evening while the fish bite. The sip-sip-sipt of the line and fly as it lands. To where Polish and Lithuanian welcome my cats on our lakeside stroll.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Take me. Take my cats. Through the picket gate. Along the limestone walk.  And we shall breathe.

I shall write.

They shall chase. And hide. And seek

by Lough Mask’s shore.

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