Clouds, sun white circle the morning, fading dreams surf the edges. Serrated memories of a guitar, a lost brother to years strummed by. Morning seeks shelter from drizzling rain. This ever changing season of falling leaves and winds shifting, laid bare across auburn fields beneath a cawing sky. I recall the fresh scents […]
distant island up close crested waves the foamy swell of emigration islands of emigration my ancestors vast seas ripple with lost language * * Gaelic language
cat flap a trail of blossoms to her bowl
A gentle sea breeze shifts through the Maple beneath a freckled sun, where clouds comb a powder blue sky on a cider fresh morning. The cat circles lukewarm shadows stretches into the light. The day is young in her kneading paws pink pads on a fleece blanket. She wipes her sun soaked eyes […]
On the radio Massenet’s Meditation, and I picture a young girl in shimmering green playing the violin. I close my eyes stilled by the haunting melody. It takes me to snow hills in Helsinki where day and night are black. Candles flicker orange and warm circling sunless forests. Reflections from a frozen sea tint a […]
Morning air stilled across a poppy light dawn, rivulets of cloud ripple. The sea speckles gold and silver, fields an ardent green. Tender yew fringes hallowed ground beyond the cemetery walls, where slices of autumn gather, dance flame, russet and ruby red on cold marble stone. A lace cobweb spans angel wings shreds […]
In the stillness of my garden I bask in September sunshine, white linen on the line billows in the breeze. Glitters of sky sparkle through the maple, my summer garden gone to seed, colours gently fading. Tart Bramley bow, heavy, ripe for the picking. The cat leaps clasping the clear air a butterfly escapes… she […]
Rain courses down the hillside scurries under the galvanised gates, slumps the bumps of a wide grassy lane drips from darting brambles of ruddy berried hedgerows. In the stillness of morning I open my window, scan Banbridge countryside for the first time. A cock crows in the distance and I can almost taste the […]
The great crime writer, Elmore Leonard, said he only started getting anywhere with his writing was when he began to have fun with it.
Leaking Wildflowers by Maire Morrissey-Cummins.