An Irish Tale

She stood on the rocky headland, the breeze off the sea blowing her long red hair back, toward her home, toward the land which had given both of them birth. The green and verdant land her people had lived in for thousands of years, the hills that held the bodies of all her ancestors for uncounted generations. And his. But he had gone into the west. Across the sea. With a promise to return, just not a promise of when.

The shawl she wrapped about her shoulders was made from the wool of sheep, as shepherds her family had always been. And his. A marriage planned long years ago still waited for the day it would be done, and every month children who would never be born passed from her body, as did the time they would never get back.

He grew faint in her memory. She found it hard to remember his look, his touch, the smell of him. Except here. On this, the headland where he had kissed her goodbye. Where last she saw and held him in her arms. Where last she was held in his.

America it was to which he went. To make his fortune, he said. So that they could build a life away from the land. So they could go to the city and live life in a proper house. So they would never have to cut peat to burn. So their children would be raised in warmth and comfort, in soft beds with good food. So they would never have to shear sheep, spend long days in the hills with the herds, suffer the cold and the wet that always seemed to permeate this land. To America he had gone. West, into the wind that blew in her face and drew the tears from her eyes with its bitter chill.

She raised her face and closed her eyes, letting the cold wind wash over her, clinging always to the hope he would return, always fighting the feeling deep inside that she was waiting in vain. That the day would never come. That all this waiting would be for nought and she would wither and fade to an old age of nothing.

So many times she had thought to step out from the headland and let the sea take her. And times would come when it was hard to resist. But she held strong in her faith he would come back and the devil in her which gave her these thoughts would be beat back for another day. And she would smell him, and see him and remember his touch, here on this headland where they had said good bye. And his touch felt strong and a smile came to her as she reached across herself to touch the hand on her shoulder and she knew it was his. And he was home.


The song in my ear? "The Rocks of Bawn" by Arcady. From the compilation CD called 'A Celtic Tapestry'.