All Souls Day at Cill Ailleach, the Church of the Cliffs and a visit to Thoor Ballylee

He shall not hear the bittern cry

In the wild sky, where he is lain,

Nor voices of the sweeter birds,
Above the wailing of the rain.

Nor shall he know when loud March blows
Thro' slanting snows her fanfare shrill,
Blowing to flame the golden cup
Of many an upset daffodil.

But when the Dark Cow leaves the moor,
And pastures poor with greedy weeds,
Perhaps he'll hear her low at morn,
Lifting her horn in pleasant meads.

Francis Ledwidge, Lament for Thomas MacDonagh

Part I

The cliffs in the distance. Sunlight on the sea.

Doolin, 11-2-2023

The walk up the road just past McDermott's Pub always seems longer than it is - just over a quarter mile - to the turn towards the ruined church and surrounding churchyard.*

Clouds all around threatened rain and showers could be seen in the distance, but no rain fell at the church. The wind gusts were strong enough to make a person lose their balance if not paying attention.

And then the sun broke through the clouds lighting up the faces of the welcoming stones and leaving silver reflections in the ocean at the foot of the cliffs.

The churchyard

The only sound besides the roar of the wind, was the creak of the rusty gate as it swung open.

The gate.

There were no cows in the field. The ravens flew near as if keeping watch. Dandelions and clover still bloomed in the verge. The last of the summer blackberries clung to their thorny stems.

Wild blackberries.

There's a large cross looking out to the cliffs and then the ocean. It's in the front corner of the churchyard. [At the far left front as one enters the gate.]

We stayed a while...remembering.

Going back the path seemed shorter, but harder...down past the fields, down past the homes, back down to McDermott's Pub where they are preparing for a night of music...a piper it seems.

Blackie O'Connell, master of the uilleann pipes, is scheduled to play.

Part II

I have you fast in my fortress,

And will not let you depart,

But put you down into the dungeon

In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,

Yes, forever and a day,

Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,

And moulder in dust away!

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, from The Children's Hour

Thoor Ballylee, 11-3-2023

What do they call the day after All Souls Day? I had to look it up. It is the feast day of St. Martin de Porres.** He had been a soldier before resigning to devote his life to the church. He is the patron saint of soldiers, beggars, and France. Why is none of this surprising?

We had a long day planned and this was only our second stop. Thoor Ballylee, Yeats' tower was closed for the season, but the Streamstown River flowed along on its meandering and unique journey. It called to us.