Decades passed into centuries, names changed and Ireland transformed. But those trees stood.
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Inisbofin, and the view of Inis Meáin
…for it was in Bofin a fortnight ago that I saw my time on Inis Meáin with pure clarity.
September 3rd 1995.
September 3rd 1995, the day I learned that anything could happen.
Living the other language
I think of all of this Irish I have, and how I got it, and what I’ll do with it.
And how it came to mean so much to me.
Anois teacht an earraigh…
And winter forgotten, all over again.
Frosty night, Inis Meáin.
No movement on the island this night. Absolute stillness. Contagious calmness
The music.
…. At the miracle of sounds made that show us ourselves
The west village.
It’s to where doubters came and said, ‘I get it now, I get why you’re here.’
The boat.
From the boat, the unlikelihood of living on an offshore island is laid bare.
The sea, and me.
The spectrum of opinion on the sea runs from romance to respect
To every thing, there is a season…
Summer was marvellous and though it’d be better if it was always summer here, winter will bring certain benefits
The time I went to Tory
To every island there is a wildness, but to Tory there is a rareness.
50km for The Red Cross Ukrainian Crisis Appeal.
I’ll be running 50km for The Red Cross Ukrainian Crisis Appeal.
Pre-season training for post-COVID life.
Consider me in pre-season training for post-COVID life
Home, away, and attachments to place.
That contentment could be found by just being in a beloved place was news to me
One morning’s walk.
I went for a walk this morning. Without my headphones.
Uninhabited islands; the Great Blasket and South Inishkea.
Such places are truly special, giving us the chance to lay hands on a past we’ve only read of in books.
The best thing about Inis Meáin? That there’s nothing to do on Inis Meáin.
The island’s gift to the visitor is time and space to dream, think, notice and observe, to see the world a little differently.
What the club means to me…
There’s a sense of belonging when I attend a game, of knowing and being known, and though I’ve come and gone (and gone again) that feeling hasn’t faded.
Turn, lift, stack, foot.
This piece of flash fiction was selected for inclusion in Autumn Leaves, a broadsheet of poetry, flash fiction & song lyrics by Roscommon writers. Autumn Leaves is part of the Arts Office Literary Development Programme, funded by Roscommon County Council and the Arts Council of Ireland.
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