Leenane
I recall stumbling down the mountain at dawn.
On the road, sheep scattered as I walked,
and down below the fjord gleamed in early light,
while above, the waterfalls fell so far
they seemed almost static.
In the village, men prepared kayaks
and lines for an early trip,
and I waited in the silence
as the sun crept slowly round to warm me.
The majestic fjord ahead of me as I waited—
so loved by tourists, but to me,
living here and knowing,
there’s nowhere I’d less rather be,
beautiful as it is.
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