March 2010

The rain came in last night, in for the night. And today. Maybe forever. Almost instantly, streams break banks, small lakes form in low-lying areas, the hills are laced with white ribbons of streams…


Hill streams roar white noise.
Each lip a boiling caulron.
Birds sing undaunted.

The rain mists in, low.
Hilltop, trees, sky coalesce.
The World disappears.



Finally, Spring is here and there’s a great burgeoning and budding; newly active birds; and in the woods…


Furtive scurrying.
Rustling in the undergrowth.
The woods are alive!



Tá an aimsir aoibhinn ag leanúint ar aghaidh, cé go bhfuil sé fuar a dhóthain fós…Níl faic faoi bhláth fós agus gaoth ghéar ag séideadh…bíonn ciall ag an gcat!

I neidín fhéarmhar,
cat camarsach á ghrianadh.
Critheann an t-eidhnéan.

[In a grassy form,
 curl of cat bakes quietly.
 Ivy leaves shiver.]


Amhrán an earraigh

Ollchór an ghairdín
i gcomórtas binncheolmhar.
Baird dothuirsithe.

[Spring song

 The massed garden choir
 tries to outdo each each other.
 Tireless troubadours.]



Spring is slow to appear this year, with this unusually cold spell we’ve been having; hard frosts and snow in may places, still.But, inevitably, signs are beginning to emerge: frog spawn and tiny, scarlet bud son the fuschia…


Colour of dried blood,
fuschia stems leak blood-red beads;
transfusing new life.