Where the path weaves,

past the craggy rocks.

Down the eroded path of bygone Drovers;

you might catch a glimpse of her,

running, resplendent in a long,white dress;

hair tumbling down her ancient, extramundane body.

She was there that day, watching us.

Oblivious to her gaze, consumed in the May of our youth,

we walked on, due North,

feeling the magnetic pull of this westerly peregrination.

I thought I saw her the other day:

Tha gaol san aidhear.

It’s time

……………………………………………