My Bairns

My children are back together again.
I listen to them singing bangers on the mountain path above me.  I call them and they turn, Gab's arm around his sister's shoulder.  He says she looks like a metronome which makes her laugh.  Then they turn again and keep on climbing. 
High on fresh lungs we watch veils of rain, look down on Carlingford loch pinched between the Cooley peninsula and the Mournes then widening into the Irish Sea.  To the north the hills of Tyrone and the sheen of of Loch Neagh on the horizon.
As Van Morrison once said Wouldn't it be good if it was like this all the time?