Une petite vacance á Irelande

Knee to knee

upon the wood chairs

with worn woolen warmth

tea in hand

you read to me

from a line of sox…

I want to embrace you

you in your

rose mohair sweater

like Maori the cat

soft and warm

your delicious words

your voice like bird song

singing another tale

I could listen

forever to your story

 Fiddle music drifts

into my mind

tunes half remembered

like the trails we have wandered


the uneven ground

the plains of boyle

I tease the fire you started

gathering twigs in boxes

with chilly fingers

smoke curling over the bricks

into the room

like the memories we try to unravel



About a month ago I journeyed up to Donegal, the wildest, most sparsely populated and northern county in Ireland to see my friend Allaye O’Connor, a gifted writer, fiddler and  baker.  I spent eight lovely days watching her kneading irish bread, laughing and playing fiddle tunes together, hiking in the moors, photographing sheep, and sitting beside the fire with a cat on my lap sharing, just two girls with kindred spirits…

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