This week, black thunderclouds moved across the bog road with the speed of light. One of the days, I set out for my walk with Poppins midst sharp blue skies, scudding with fluffy white clouds worthy of Wordsworth, and within five minutes the lane was shrouded in darkness. I felt a slight, tremulous wind filtering the hedgerows and next I was being lashed by sheets of sharp incisor rain, the length of needles. It didn’t last long but afterwards the world was a quivering wreck, trembling. Drops hung from sticks, rivulets ran down the small road, rivers rose in the drain, and I was soaked. Imagine if it had been blood, I thought! Anyway, fortunately for me, it was only a shower of rain not bullets, and in minutes the Cavan sky was re-streaked blue, fluffy white clouds re-appeared, and the world became beautiful again. At the top of the lane, overlooking the bog, it felt like I was standing in a gigantic rain drop, wobbling slightly at the edge of a twig, in a circular globe refracted with colour. I was reborn!
I must say, it was refreshing to feel the roundness of the earth again, and see that colour, for my world has felt rather flat in the past few months. However, yesterday, I heard that I have been chosen to read/perform in the Cúirt Spoken Word Platform on Thursday 21 April in the Kings Head, Galway and that I was accepted on a summer fiction in Thessaloniki in Greece in June! I hope to see people there (Galway, not Greece)
It is wonderful to hear good news. So I’ll continue, for it has been a while. After returning from my walk with Poppins, it wasn’t until I was divesting myself of my dripping black cap and coat that I realised I had forgotten my leg. Not that I had left it anywhere, simply that the pain hadn’t registered on the walk home. The hip has hope, I am on the mend!
And finally, another bit of good news: we had our septic tank emptied. I am a Londoner. It has taken me years to adjust to some of the facts of rural life. Like those legendary urban children who think milk comes from Tescos, I didn’t think about what happened after I flushed the loo. Of course, I knew about septic tanks, I even knew we had one, but the need to empty them was a step too far. It was a thought that hovered on the perimeter of my brain every so often in the last fifteen years and then disappeared. It was only when I noticed this week that the bottom of our garden seemed to have actually turned into a real bog with tissue floating, that action had to be taken and I had to find out how this deed was done!
So, life is looking up and smelling sweet. I have an empty septic tank, I am going to a Colm Keegan workshop in Enniskillen this weekend, a 60th birthday party in Monaghan (yes 60th, I am lining up) and spending a few days with the family in London next week where they don’t even know what septic tanks are (Tescos don’t sell them).