The rain fell, heavy and determined and as my eyes scanned the wind scoured moor I became aware that it would be all too easy to trespass into legend.  After all, legends are made by the telling and retelling of tales over and over,  until they become stuck in time.  The whole landscape is laced with stories and I am especially intrigued by the character, the Hawk of Achill.  His presence in story is firmly located on Achill and I hope that the island would give me permission to place him in my story.

My boots slapped along the wind-scoured path to ‘Sliabh Dorcha’,(the dark mountain).  Each stone on the path had that look, as if it had come from the back of a rock dragon.   My eyes fixed on the mountain, chiseled by the cold, a beating pulse of the land.  I could taste the dampness in the air as the rain left the broody blue sky.   

I have to state at this point that there is a mountain which I can view from my mobile home but it is not named Sliabh Dorcha.  However, in my re-imagined world of story, fiction becomes reality.  The mountain inspired a setting that I was happy with and once I had that the next stage was to bring in a character or two.  As I dawdled I wondered how the Hawk of Achill would play out in my tale.   

Every step I took further unlocked the door of my imagination.  I began to envisage The Hawk, as though I was watching a fantasy film; old and grey, his wings unfurled, commanding the shale coloured sky. 

There is an old Irish tale where the old hawk has a conversation with Fintan MacBochra, a man who had the tongue of birds and according to myth the first man who settled in Ireland.  More to be told of that tale in a future blog post and this story has a Cork connection.

Despite, the air chilling my bones, happiness was upon me and my feet began to bop along the path. It has been a while since I felt this good.  In my latter days of living in West Cork I existed and lived life with a sullen and downcast body and a face that did not smile.  I had lost all joy and upon reflection there were times when I was accompanied by deep despair.

I became lonely without a story to warm my heart.  Fear came upon me as I began to become concerned that no story would ever tap me on my shoulder giving me permission to tell it.  Were my storytelling days to be resigned to the past? I began to withdraw in an unhealthy manner, and as I did so I began to feel totally abandoned.  

However, as soon as I stepped into Achill, the wind muttered, spoke and roared all kinds of stories. It was as though new life was breathed into my bones bringing me hope and joy.  I feel that I have a place here in Achill and there is a strong sense of belonging. I love the way the wind is always in dialogue with the moors and Clew Bay.  I am always in awe of the beauty which surrounds me.  The peat bogs and moors give out the vibe of aloofness, shadowy mists holding secrets and in the mid winter light I could almost believe that eyes pursue me as I walk by.  I am blessed to be living here.  

As I walked, a thought came bounding in my head.  A reflection I just could not shake off.   My steps slowed down, as It came to me how nature acts like a soothing balm to the mind, body and soul.   I became aware how essential untamed wild places are and I am of the opinion that they are gifted to the human race by God for our well-being.

In our fast paced frenzied world, the wild places are devoured and plundered to satisfy the insatiable appetite of those who perceive nature as nothing more than something to dominate for selfish gain.  A narrative has been created that nature is there to serve us and does so only on a profit basis rather than acknowledging that wild places need good custodianship for our well-being.  As I walked I wondered whether the destruction of wild places has a motive at its core in that it is designed to keep us stressed and disconnected.

I value wild places and as I stated earlier I view nature as a gift from God. If we lack good guardianship it can be likened to giving someone a gift,  but then finding out at a later stage that the person took no care of it whatsoever by allowing it to became soiled and torn.  The question I have to pose are we ripping up a beautiful gift from God? 

Sadness hovered around my heart as I went on to pose a personal question – am I happy with what I have or do I want to keep pedaling the consumerist bandwagon in the pursuit of acquiring goods that will only tarnish with time.

Despite residing in a mobile home it has to be said that I am happy.  I have very little possessions but I have all I need to live happily. I have a cosy space  where I can rest, shower, cook and create stories. I do not need the latest gadget with its false promise of offering contentment.

An ice wind brings a tear to my eye, I am reminded I have something which I consider invaluable – peace.  I no longer despair at the thought of going back home to face the incessant thump, thump, thump of loud music which tortured me every night through to the morning during the time when I lived in Ballydehob.  Nor do I have saliva, stuck in my throat and waves of apprehension washing over me, alert and waiting for yet another projectile to be thrown at my window or the loud mocking voices of neighbours who would bang my door, call me names and generally make my life a misery as was the case when I lived in Pollokshaws in Glasgow.  

Here in Achill, I can sleep. My body is no longer alert waiting on a threat and each night before I sleep I pray that I always have the blessing of living remote. 

One of my greatest joys at night, is when I ‘coorie’ down on the sofa, the log burner spitting out blue and orange tongues, making the room toasty warm.  My eyes wander to the vastness of the inky sky that stretches far over Clew Bay.  I am amazed at the swirlings of black, blue and purple and right there in that explosion of colour are the stars which illuminate the landscape.  It is so magnificently beautiful that it breaks my heart to see it and when I do it lulls me into dream. Perhaps when I am lost in dream time I can figure out the part the Hawk of Achill plays in my new story.

The story continues.