18th c.Winter Walk 2014.

December 28th Walk 2014 through Carton-Castletown.
Like walking ghosts breathing fog and warmth,
An anticyclone gave us an 18thc winters day,
We marched in bleached caps, and I chattered
Of phaetoned Lennox sister’s schemes and ways.
That bridge over the Rye, a hand dug lake to mirror a great house,
A gazebo to fix the view, a buried ice mound, cottages in the woods,
Craved spaces away from the pains of a people’s woes,
Sanctuaries for a woman’s heartbreak for son and nephew.
We are silenced on foot bridges over tumbling cascades.
We are blinded by winter’s light on church spire and branch.
Country seats gaze blankly at their monuments,
Follies that remind the skies they fed the starving.
Defaced sermons in stone, amidst idyllic scenes.
Today it is ours to make what of they willed, made do.
We relive their delight, their love of their domain,
When a girl read that little poem in their wayside lover’s grotto.
After, we needed a pub’s snug to warm us from our contemplation,
Cold to a hollering express train rushing by from Sligo.


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