A Place To Rest And Write
A Little Holiday in Rural Ireland
I can stare into the sun, via its image fully reflected on the side of the window of the parked car. Each ray, a mini-version of the real thing. So strong are these virtual beams that when I look down again to write, my sight is blotted by flickering dotted black spots. I blink to clear and note my thoughts.
Today is my last day in the depths of surprisingly sunny County Waterford. Though my neighbour to the east, for me it was an undiscovered place. So near and so unfamiliar. Outside Tallow is where I am, only 20 kilometres from where I worked long before I retired into my writing two months earlier.
Tomorrow, I shall leave this place of rest, a working farm of peaceful quietude bar the mooing of the calves so colourfully mixed, and the request of the forlorn donkey braying for company. I will miss the early morning tractor, waking me up as it chugs through the hidden backyard, off to perform its rural tasks while I turn around and go back to sleep.
And oh yes, the silence often broken, too, by the squabbling crows high above in the tall pine trees which throw shadows to break the golden sunlight…
