Remembering Achill island where:
landscape so barren echoes with loneliness.
Remnants of harsh winter slowly receding,
leaving terrain behind burnt from elements.
Will spring bring a green renaissance?
High on cliffs inquisitive Peregrine Falcon,
sharp-eyed and watching ocean frenzy.
Arrogant bird of prey, with attitude,
indifferent to Achill's weather.
Sojourner birds will return with spring.
Glacial island's intriguing domain.
Atlantic storms forever sculpt prospect,
as bitter winter sun skims land playfully.
Creating elusive shapes and shadows,
like a kaleidoscope of mystery.
These impressions stay with me,
when returning to my concrete existence.
Instead of screeching soaring seabirds:
the endless roar of traffic.
Closing my eyes I remember.
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