Transparent rain outside the window. Early in the morning, I bustle with the light from the blue chandelier. Coffee ground into the sand of July tastes like simplicity. I eat strawberries with yogurt, honey, oat bran, black sesame, and almond flakes.
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At magical Kenneys Bookshop & Art Gallery, I had no idea I was walking over to a bookshelf with poetry. I realized it when I pulled a thin publication from the shelf with the interesting title The Elephant in the Corner. The poems it contained reminded me of the taste of every morning coffee I drunk on a graphite sofa or in completely unfamiliar chairs. Aoife Mannix – an Irish poet born in Sweden knows the smell of rented furniture and she does not afraid to present emotions that I am sometimes scared to admit, although they live with me.
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On a summer afternoon, we met at Nimmo’s Pier in Galway. River Corrib in Claddagh Quay flowed calmly and was a deep blue color. We took bags and litter keepers, which were brought by Tiarnan McCusker – Galway City Environmental Awareness Officer. I had gloves from a few previous coastal clean-up with Wave Makers. We parked our bikes next to the meadow and moved towards blue and green.
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Dominick Street in Galway is bustling with an old-school glow. The chief carries a tray full of eggs from one cafe to another. Beer kegs meditate on the sidewalk in front of a yellow door with a rustic knocker.
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Sometimes a part of us gets hung up on the power line like sneakers that have been spinning over Distillery Road in Galway for few days. Have you ever wondered why someone throws shoes on the electric wire in your city? I always thought that whoever did it, wanted to show cleverness after a few beers. Although I have to admit that the sneakers in every position arouse my sympathy.
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I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
W.B. Yeats “He wishes for the cloths of heaven”
For two years I have published the first blog post. The decision to set up my own writing site was like a return to myself and brought me to a wonderful adventure. You can read what new things have I learned.
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I sit down on a stone by the R336 in the Maan Valley. The asphalt is quiet. Along the side of the road, one sheep walks. Thin black legs wobble slightly on the grey rocks. I take a sip of coffee from an orange mug. Brown giants – Maamturk watch me gently. A moment ago I have doubted the sense of being. Now, I contemplate a magical or ordinary fragment that is just happening.
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A few years ago, I got an idea for a book about middle-aged women who consistently work with passion. In Ireland’s humid and changeable climate, I met many self-satisfied women, and they made me love my graying hair. I made interviews to find out how they keep fire in their hearts and shape into action. However, when I wrote seven chapters, I locked them in a file for four years. Not because I didn’t want to continue with this idea, but simply because I didn’t organize my time to work on the book.
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Outside the window, I hear the sound of a hammer hitting the metal sheet. My cup of coffee is touching the saucer sonorously. A knife creaks on the glass board as I cut the bread, and the bottle of olive oil hits the worktop. Even though it is an ordinary Wednesday, I put on my blue flamenco shoes which I brought from Cadiz, and tap out my internal beat on the kitchen floor.
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The blue outside seems Portuguese, although it will come Irish rain in an hour. The first sips of my coffee taste of the waves, and I feel the slight swaying like on a boat. Where to go today? I try to revive hope by painting my nails cherry red. Himalayan salt twists my hair as princess Merida has in Brave. I follow my voice.
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