Across fields of languid wet grass dotted with grazing cattle
we walked, a weary band of silent souls.
Carefully picking our way across a gently meandering stream,
our minds embellished by the smells and sounds that enveloped us.
We gazed at the grey clouds high above, floating in their sombre procession,
disrupted by noisy crows careering through the dimming light of the wounded sky.
Our tired legs stung as we carefully picked our way through hedgerows of thorns and nettles.
Glancing behind us to see how far we had come,
and in the distance the Lough and ancient woodlands watched on as we left them behind.
Our trembling hands cupped in a spring of fresh cool water,
no one talked, we just stole furtive looks at each other, afraid to speak.
Our journey continued without another backward look,
on we walked to the mountain, now cloaked in the veil of night.
A single word was spoken….
And at that we struggled up the pebble strewn slope.
At the crest we drew breath,
a wretchedly timid light shone from the broken moon.
And we gathered, to watch the world we had known begin to fall.
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