^Cover up^
^In the beginning was the word^
^...and the word was good.^
As I write this the cold of fading day is creeping in
to take the place of the soon departed sun.
I am bound by my writing arm to Caitriona
who is bound to me by hers – through a loop of
bungee hooked into the green army poncho
acting as an extra layer of warmth
around our shoulders
and down our backs.
We are sitting in the roof-rampart of a
part-derelict part-restored gate-house-castle
that extends from its lower part in an arch
over the footpath we were ascending
as we saw it.
I have to fight off a touch of OCD
brought on by the magic of the place
making every little action on our parts
part of a quest for perfection.
Unseen
Intuitive
Etiquette
We each give a gift wrapped in home-grown tobacco:
me burying a parcel of dark chocolate
(sniffing it three times between our noses
filling our heads & our lungs with its food)
in the earth
(the leaf litter of countless
seasons as the trees
around us grew)
while she twirls tearing pieces then releases
to the wind.
Two Owls occasionally answer each other
from distant perches
in the woods.
*