stars

rude awakening, pitch black dark. The mobile phone, the seaside melody, there it is, time to wake the son, and to leave Ireland yet again. The Aer lingus flight fles at six, it is three and it is an hour to cork.

Two hours early are demanded, the car is to be returned, and the suitcases must be closed.

The son will not get up, he does not want to.

The bags go out to the car, the dog smells a rat, and is standing by the gorse bush barking.

It is three in the morning, the son barely awake.

look up and see that there are more stars to be seen in the sky than in Germany, the sky is lit with the uncounutable small bright lights, the milky Way a streak on the horizon.

Write a note on an old page at the kitchen table, thank you and goodbye.

The brother gets up then and comes down from his room,

says goodbye.

And the journey to Cork begins, in the small car with the condensation on the windows.

Then Lismore under the stars.

Knockmealdown mountains