He reproves the Curlew

O curlew, cry no more in the air,
Or only to the water in the West;
Because your crying brings to my mind
passion-dimmed eyes and long heavy hair
That was shaken out over my breast:
There is enough evil in the crying of wind. 
WB Yeats*


Misty, murky and mild, and everything so still. The birds hard at it though - in a few moments I saw two egrets, a heron, a squadron of oyster catchers and a lone curlew calling its mournful tune. Take a listen

This is the view from the Air India memorial looking out to the curve of Kitchen Cove and the little harbour. Jack's Cottage perches at the sea edge and Rosskerrig looms from the mist. This weather does terrible things to my hair. Just saying.

* According to a reviewer of this poem Yeats is thinking about love and sex and death. And, in the absence of anything else of consequence, aren’t we all?