December ’09

Low light, palely blinding, makes cloud-mirages…

Néal íseal i gcéin,
Tír na nÓg ag ainliú thall.
Néal ar ‘tSeanDomhan.

[One distant, low cloud,
Tír na nÓg hovers offshore.
The Old World sleeps on.]



Clear and crisp still, blindingly, searingly bright days…

Airgid an bhá,
smidiríní scatháin
trí ghéaga loma.

[Silver the bay,
mirror smithereens between
the bare branches]



At last: respite! Cold but blessedly sunny, silvered light throwing indigo shadows over drowned fields.

December field

Twenty-nine curlews
and twenty-nine long shadows
patrol a bright field.



Phew! It’s been, as we say up in Louth, very weathery! Floods, storms, cold, rain and wind – and very occasionally and most welcome, a sunny spell.


After-storm quiet,
a million new streams singing
in full-throated song.