On the hunt, once again

The fairies have asked me to leave

Dear reader,

Happy Easter, a time of chicks blooming, all things chirping, budding, cracking and opening.

How is it that, on this once-a-year day, one could feel so glum? Well, human existence is always a little more complicated than earthy existence, despite the two being of each other.

I can’t get the stove to light and am cold, haven’t slept the past two nights and above the chimney, against a backdrop of fog there seems a slight smock hazy smoky smell, a paralysis of the air.

This turning time, this precipice, I too am turning and if not upward then certainly around. The ground is turning too and the silver birch has finally released parcels of bright green.

I’ve changed my mind a lot over the years about life, as we all do growing up, dropped into existentialism a little too many times to say.

I recently finished reading ‘Minor Monuments’ by Ian Maleny about his relationship to family and home in the boggy midlands, and how he longs for the simple, pure life of a country existence that his grandparents experienced but he cannot create it, can’t go back there because he has left, went to Dublin to work and became entangled in newness, forward thinking, the world cannot go back because the clocks don’t work that way (yet).

Last year I put all my savings into a small cabin, which was not only expensive but also very expensive emotionally. I thought being able to put ‘things’ in one place, to be in one place would soften the blows of life. But this land, our beautiful quiet earth, has been split up and divided.