THOUGHTS AT TWILIGHT TIME

Thoughts in the twilight time…

It’s twilight time, and my oh my…

The colors, in that great domed sky…

A brilliant blue, with orange too…

And azure, links them hues so true…

While high up in that darkened tree…

A squirrel sits there bold and free…

So still, and tight, a barmy night…

The birds are silent in there flight…

That half moon hangs there, high above…

While Irish poets write of love…

It’s twilight time, as my thoughts roam…

In fading light, I think of home…

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So I’ll get back to the story and peel through the pages of my scribbled notes, biro written with bad spelling on that dog eared exercise book that was my diary of the time…

Ok, so I wakes in the morning, with a yawn, a cough and a doona lifting fart…And rises to a cuppa tea with toast and vegemite…Then I’m on the top deck of that bus again, swaying and weaving its way through the narrow winding streets, to alight in Dublin central, and meet Maria somewhere there, and we will nut out how to catch the bus to Galway, for my Thursday trip to the Aran Isle’s, in a couple of days time, and for the first time we’ll be there…

So as it was, we browsed about, and I, taking in the sights and the sounds of those busy bustling Dublin streets, while Bard ‘n’ Maria tried to swing to that thing, for their deer and trusted friend, a happening wedding ding…

And then, the now time, was slowly moving fast…

Anyhow we were there in the arvo, sitting in the back yard having a cupp a tea, laughin an a talking…

Maria says to Bard, ‘them shoes look sweet on your feet’…

Bard says, ‘I’m your man and it’s a treat’…

Hey it’s twilight time, to me it feels like five, but it really is about nine, plenty left for summertime, so off we go, back into Dublin town, shuffling down the street to catch the L.U.A.S[a fast and silently moving mono type train]…

When we alight, here we are, in city central, and it’s a busy happening summertime Dublin scene…

We wander off to hit the Jappanee noodle house, and slurp up a big bowl of the most delicious chilly chicken soup, loaded with noodles and sprouts…Yum…

Ok, so then, with belly full and farting, we head off, meandering, to wander along them cobble stone streets, towards the Ha’Penny  Hotel…Where at that bridge across the Liffy, way back then, used to cost a ha’penny to get to the other side of that fast flowing river…

Well, as we walk along that narrow lane way, there’s music oozing out of every crook and cranny, buskers on the street, theatre on the corner, with wailing jigs ‘n’ reels coming from each and every tavern along the way…Hey…

This happening thing is a sweet rounded thing…

Ok, so here we are at the H’penny Hotel, and then we step along that narrow winding staircase upwards, to merge with a shoulder to shoulder throng of people all bunched together, and getting off on this chick, with an electric Uke, and with her band, was singing dust bowl ballads…

Woody Guthrie style, with an Irish take…

So…we were tucked in tight, digging the now, and spilling our drinks, as we got off on that mad crazy tight type summertime Dublin pub music scene…

Bard ‘n’ Maria was leading the way home, as I was shuffling on behind, wanting to hit the horizontal… Snooze buzz and regurgitate, my flipped out, flopped out mind…

           Then I wake up in the morning to a blissful, birding sound of chirping, coming through the open window, cool breeze blowing through, with a clear blue sky out there, summertime northern hemisphere style…

So I sits me down, in the back yard with a nice cuppa tea, as Mr Squirrel danced from limb to limb, in the branches of that tall oak back yard tree…

That day came and happily went with the nowtime moving.

The next morning, there’s activity in the house, Bard ‘n’ Maria are up an about while I’m on the jug for a nice brewed hot cuppa tea, we three enjoy…

Well the buzz is…Bard ‘n’ Maria are off to there mates wedding, at Kilkenny…And wooh, I’m home alone in Rathgar…It’s 10 am as I wave them tut tah, from the stony walled and nicely pebbled driveway…

Nothing much happening throughout the day, till I tuned into that Gaelic speaking, jigs ‘n’ reel sounding, Irish way-out there funky flunky flonky stuff…on the radio waves…

Wow that stuff is good…I was flipped…

The music was so good, in my mind I was, [and still do when I hear that stuff,] doing summersaults ‘n’ pepper’s

With that sweet swinging jumping Irish sound…

After an afternoon of sitting peacefully in the green and gray backyard, soaking up that warm and giving Irish summer sun, as I did pour from a nice Euro bought bottle of red, those jigs and reels was jumping as the twilight night was slowly moving in…So I then knocks up a quick bite, and when the glass was empty I takes a stroll up the stony, rained upon wind blown street…Hey, this was a barmy northern hemisphere summertime night, with a gentle breeze blowing, and I’m stepping along till I arrive at a major four way junction, with a tavern tucked close to the curb, I then push the door open and step into a room full of happy people standing shoulder to shoulder, each with a drink, talking, laughing and shouting while listening to the lilt of an Irish band tucked tight in the corner, way up the back of this tightly packed room, I puts me head down and shoulders ‘n’ shuffles me way to the bar and push my way through… ‘Jamison straight thanks mate’, the young fella behind the bar gives me a strange but knowing look, then says, ‘righty o cobber, I tinks I be knowing wot it is you be wanting’… After a short wait in that humdrum of activity, I glance across the way to see that young barman skipping toward me to the sound of that Irish band, with, what looked like to me, a middy glass half full of that mad crazy flip you out, flop you out Irish wiskey…I part with some of Bards euro’s, then work my way closer to the band, take in the music while observing the sights…After a few takes on that…And I do have a slight recall, that I got stropey with the band cause I wanted to have a blow on the drums…

Anyhow I was outside in the fresh air having a smoke, and just as I was about to leave, a group of lads loom up. I says ‘Howsit gowin’, one of em said, ‘wadhesay’, another one says, ‘ hey, you be an Ossie’, I says, ‘blood oath mate’, then this other one steps up an says, ‘ look, this is the crack, two years ago when I was picking in Queenslyn, I met a fine mate called Bruce, so when you get back home, look im up, an tell im O’Riely says, top of the morning to yee’…

I says, ‘too be sure mate’…Then alone but not lonely, I wanders back along that narrow footpath, my thoughts on a roll as I put one step after the other and shuffle toward Rathgar, climb the staircase, key my way in, then hit the horizontal, happy and harmoniously drifting…

I wake about mid morning, feeling a little fuzzy and busting for a leak, and then jug up for a nice cuppa tea, as I think about what’s in front of me…  

Ok…so now it’s time to clean up this little mess, suds up for the dishes, wash them pots an pans, wipe the benchers, sweep the floor, take out the garbage, water the plants, pack an overnight bag, have another cuppa, then close the windows, lock the door, and I’m on my way, to the buss stop and catch that no 14, for a weaving ride, as I hang on tight before I alight at the busy Dublin central, to wait awhile before I jump that big overland bus, that’s gunna freight me across the middle of this green land, with its rolling green hills, stone wall fences, big wealthy manors, old barns, falling down churches and little towns built close to the winding road…I sit with my thoughts as I roll on and over, toward that upbeat university town, with that fast flowing river, perched upon the banks of that big bay they call…Galway…

That big bus hisses an groans as it wheels into the Galway terminal, I then climb outa my seat and alight from that rolling coach, to be swept away with the wide smiles and warm hugs from Bard ‘n’ Maria…It’s festival time in Galway, and the place is jumping…Anyhow we bypass that flipped out jazzed up scene and head toward an outer bayside suburb where Maria’s mates, Martin and Cathleen are gunna put us up for the night…We arrive and go through the usual chitty chat bout this and that, and then, to my tape worms great delight, we seat ourselves round a table loaded with goodies, colorful salad stuff, olives, an assortment of cheeses, slabs of crusty bread, a bowl of pesto paster, and thick slices of medium barbequed medallions of meat…And with our glasses full of good wine, we tucked in, and enjoyed the nosh… lots of laughing an talking…Smiles all around…

So after that comfortable encounter, and with the twilight time still bright, we heads off to take a stroll along the promenade, it’s a windy walk where the sea meets the shore at that quaint little bayside town called Salthill…

Well…it’s the morning now as we pack up, load up, buckle up and head along the winding narrow road toward the mouth of the bay, where the stonewall fences separate the little wind blown sea side cottages perched on the green rolling hills at the opening of the bay…So here we are and were ready to bored the boat that’s gunna churn through rolling Atlantic waves and put us on Inis Meain of the Aran Islands…Where time stands still…And the dry stone fences are still standing, and the wind still sweeps the Ryegrass…

After bumping and swaying for an hour or so, there in the distance are the great gray cliffs of the stony Aran Isles…

The ferry boat docks somehow between the rocks, and we alight to set foot on this time forgotten far out place…

Then we climb into this old unregistered vehicle that winds its way through a maze of stonewall wind blown fences and drops us off at the Inis Meain hotel…Our digs for the next few days of our stay on this weather beaten island…

We unpack, then after a few pints, hoe into a grand feed of Mackerel fish, crispy potato chips, and of course a colorful bowl of salad with a special dressing, we eat well, between sipping on the Chardonnay, laughing an talking before we hit the horizontal, for a deep and meaningful sleep…    

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Thoughts of Inis Meain…

[Pronounced Inish Man]

The boat that leaves the mainland, at the mouth of Galway bay…

There’s a wake that sprays behind you, as you sway along the way…

To arrive at Inis Meain, one of the stony Aran Isles…

Then when you climb that craggy ridge, you can see for many miles…

And down there on the lowlands, lines of fences made of rock…

Where the wind that sweeps the Ryegrass, has surely stopped the clock…

It’s far off in the distance, across the rolling sea caps there…

Is the highland of the Burren, in the misty county Clare…

Cast your gaze around a bit, waves roll on steep stoned shore…

As rain clouds ever shifting, sweep across the cliffs of Moer…

Those dry stone fences like a maze, criss cross this wind swept land…

Ten thousand million rocks they used, and each one laid by hand…

Those flowers on the window sill, the pub that’s painted white…

As the fiddle sounds, and Guinness flows, it’s a clear and starry night…

Then we three walk in the moonlight, along a winding ribbon like path…

And when were not laughing were talking, we don’t think of the aftermath…

The time has come, the walrus said, the time here ticks by slow…

The ferry’s waiting at the pier, and now it’s time to go…

As we roll on over the waves, Inis Meain in the distance now…

I think of them who stacked those rocks, and I wonder why and how…

To be continued…