glass box

Saturday 20th of April, 2019

On a settee in a glass box looking over the

inlet of the Atlantic, a part of the complex

Galway bay. The brother has gone with the

fisherman to collect rocks for his garden in

Dublin, he has gone to an island out in the

middle of the bay. With his fisherman friend..

The water is dark grey, dead calm, shining

reflections of the trees and houses on the

islands in the bay, patterns on its surface

showing up the currents and the fields of

seaweed. There is a hrdee at the water's edge,

grazing, And a cow wanders over the small

fields between the dry stone walls, the walls

made of irregular stones balanced one on lip of the next. The fields are a patchwork, a subdivision of the land the ground bare rock or covered with a shallow soggy mass of black earth.

It is a day of low cloud, the hills on the

opposite side of the bay are cut off by the

low gray cloud, the mountains surface

indistinct and grey in the fog below the clouds.

Towards the apex the sky brightrns, but

is no more than a pervasive greyness.

seen from the glass room attached to the brothers cottage