dreamingwithfairies

My entry this morning - which I've privated - said nothing new. I guess I only wrote because I haven't in a while. I've been researching and I thought I needed to get my thoughts together, but they didn't need to be said.

Afterwards, I decided to get in my car and go anywhere. No destination. I just wanted to go away somewhere new.

I sit here typing on my phone. My car is shaking from the raging wind outside. It's raining and massive, foamy seawaves are crashing and spraying about 25ft away from me. For nearly an hour I've been driving down windy country roads and green hills of Leinster, dotted with hedges, ancient mossy stone walls, medieval bridges, bare trees with snaking branches, farmhouses and sheep huddled together. The landscape is muted colours - dark greens, greys, browns. I am moved by this sombre beauty, this bleak January. As usual, my soul rests in the things people hate, dread and reject. This stormy, cold, watery howling - the softened outlines of every stone and blade of grass - I adore it. The sky and the seawaves are white as snow from here.

Driving through the landscape, I can almost hear history and memory murmuring from around every corner. The blood that was shed, the songs that were sung, the dreams that were lost. Éire is older than old. Before it was even called Ireland. Its myths so strange and specific, no one knows how much of it is historical account and how much a mere fable.

The huge waves crashing against the cliffs - they may as well be crashing against my soul. My mind tingles, satisfied, seeing its likeness in nature.

"These bleak skies I hail for they are kinder to me than your fellow creatures." - Frankenstein, Mary Shelley