Yesterday evening a clear light was shining from behind the Slieve. As far as I know nobody is living there. The glow of Galway lights much further to the north and Ballyvaughan is too small and scattered for this powerful shining. Would they be working in the peat at night or would there be a crazy party going?
Half of me wanted to rearrange the car and drive up the mountain road. This was not just nothing, there was something gigantic going and the light was slowly increasing.
I got hungry and dug up some bread and cheese from the cardboard food box. Maybe I was distracted for 5 minutes, possibly 10. When I looked up again I was not really surprised. Just free from the edge, risen in silence a totally full moon was shining. Her golden skimming light swirled by the shadows of ridges and rocks down the slopes.
Now I knew. My Tide Tables had mentioned a full moon. But if I had known it would be this full, I would have bought a newspaper. To read it by.
When I wanted to make tea this morning, I was somewhat surprised to see my mug on the table, filled with water. I never do that. Also I saw a tiny piece of seaweed sticking at the rim. Even more unusual. I dipped my finger in the water and it tasted like the sea. Could Dusty have filled my cup? Are you out of your mind?
Some self-taught comedian must have taken the trouble to stumble across the rocks to get me a beaker of seawater. Who knows how long they must have been chuckling behind a stone wall yesterday evening, waiting for the expected result.
We live a simple, humble life on this here meadow. Nevertheless, or may be because, we note anything unnewsual in our view. Like now there is this washed up single golfers shoe, that we have integrated into our subculturalness. Instead of piling up a 20 foot rock wall to dyke out the ever swelling growl of the water, we symbolically mounted this shoe on the waste warning shield pole to ward off the wrath of the ocean. We figure that in a century or three archeologists will discover our token and celebrate it in a separate chapter on the influence of dolphin superstition on Irish cultural history.
More down to the earth is the washed up tree that we dragged up the rocks to dry for firewood. It is sticking out there and right now being soaked in the relentless Irish rain.
The most elevating view I have at this moment is a steaming hot body warming succulent mug of Earl Grey tea (with Bergamot oil) brewed by my lady love, my dove, the ever dancing Verena.