Not a Whisper of Wind
It’s eerily calm. Heavenly so.
Not a blade of grass flutters.
Even the birds are not in flight.
Moy House is lost inside the mist.
The cows, my precious cows have returned.
But they’re hiding from view.
The sounds of the sea. There are none.
While the light goes from pink to blue.
The silence is pure in this perfect Clare moment.
When the soul knows where it dwells.
And where it is going.
It is already there.
