Going Home

Am going home today to my spiritual home in the hills of north Tipperary..... Homestead of my mother. I love these hills I wandered as a child. The lanes, the fields of hay ricks, unseen today. The streams of cooling water to be slurped with the abundance of blackberries bending briars all the way along the lanes. The now abandoned creamery in Silvermines I journeyed to on ass and cart. The mines themselves surrendered back to the hills.. The railway station at Shalee where I would jump off a slow moving train after my Dad had a word with the driver in Nenagh. A granny tough as flint and as loving as humanly possible. The cottage bereft of running water or a bathroom. The uncles in their great coats...big, hard, frightening men who could protect me from anything........... I miss those days.......just saying

"Delicate"
We might kiss when we are alone
When nobody's watching
We might take it home
We might make out when nobody's there
It's not that we're scared
It's just that it's delicate

Delicate