The rhythm of feet and Sun on brow,
Tapping narrow lanes cutting into soil,
Hot knives through butter,
Passing homes with stoney walls and bridge,
Glistening-jumping stream toward the Sea,
Mary Magdalene incarnate at each window,
Beside and never far,
Rusty gate climbing white stone and scree,
Bleating lambs stare intensely,
This creature traversing land,
Step by step.

~

Gamhain MacCionaoith