Last night I finished reading H is for Hawk by Helen McDonald.....What a wonderful read. I cant recommend it highly enough. So if you havent read it go out, buy it and read it.  It wont be like anything you have ever read before which is its charm. Its quite a while since a book has touched my heart and my mind in such a glorious natural way.  I am sad I have finished it.  Today I feel lonely without it and I am thinking a lot of my father. I had the most fantastic father and the best of relationships and even though he has been dead a long time now...25 years well 26 this year I can still hear him laugh and see his handsome smiling face. And remember his love of nature and music. I can see him standing in our back garden feeding a robin from his hand.
On these kind of days while I take a break before my next read I head off with my camera. Here are some of my images. Hope you enjoy them...Dont forget to go buy H is for Hawk , read it and then tell all your friends....

Black Shadow on the Hillside

The grass is now growing

Where you lay.

The primroses I planted

To give you colour

To give me hope

Have receded with the snow

That for a while kept you warm.

This hillside will always be yours -

Your tracks and trails, your scent

Has marked the territory

Forever yours.

The woods so deep and dark

You conquered without fear

The stream you crossed or

Maybe chose the wooden bridge

To bring you home.

The joy we felt

From the love you gave

Forever faithful.

The paths are silent where you walked

The warm spots empty

Where you lay all summer long -

And the box deep inside the hay barn

Where you sheltered from the rain

An empty reminder now obsolete.

The fox stopped dropping by

But the cat stayed and the birds

Still sing.

Too long you shared your love

Sometimes we hear you in the silence

Always ready to run and play

Sometimes we see your shadow

Sometimes this, sometimes that.

But everyday we think of you

And remember –

Forever love.

.

The day dawns with dread

I feel you lurking in the shadows

A cool breeze gives respite to

My tortured mind

Too soon I am back inside-

Inside - outside

I am behind these prison walls

Another day you keep me here

Locked away from loving life

In chains I drag my feet slowly

Slower each day

I standstill now unable to move

Body and mind frozen in time.

I am on the inside

Yet I am free

Eight years is a long time

Inside or outside these prison walls

You committed the crime

Yet I am paying

For not being part

Of the plan

You wanted for me

I am  inside and free because I am light

You are  outside a prisoner

Of your own darkness

Acceptance

Angela M.C. D’Alton

I am Born

I am born; I am born of you -

You lying in this sterile faded ward -

One of many-

In a building echoing sounds

Of old hunger, suffocating air and decay.

Time passes here -

Slowly, quickly - does it matter?

She stares into shapes-

Oblivious to voices once familiar.

Gently I stroke her hand.

She smiles like a child -

I remember when I was the child

And she held mine.

Her skeletal form rests on the white linen sheets -

And as I trace each finger with my own

Tears blind my thoughts of -

Loving worlds made with her hands.

She is peaceful and smiles.

Did she say my name?

I move closer

Softly I kiss her thin white forehead.

'I love you Mam.' -

Words tumble through my tears.

An echo - 'I love you too'

Spoken with a smile but -

Without recognition.

Looking at her as I leave

Seeing her

Just lying, smiling, waiting -

I think -

I know you do Mam

You always did.

Angela M.C. D'Alton

 

New start

Today, well a few moments ago to be precise I finished my short story for the RTE competition. 
I dont really like competition in the arts but thought I would have a go anyway.
I'm not really a short story writer. ,The limit for this was 2,000 words. That normally would be very difficult for me. But my new story Milly, is only 1200. Not sure if thats going to be enough.  Will take another look at it later.  For now I am just happy to be writing again.

Its nearly Time

I read somewhere that before he sat down to write Ernest Hemingway peeled an awful lot of oranges...I know how he feels.  Its really time I sat down and wrote it down.  But the time hasnt been right.  My story has been whizzing round my head and recently I can feel my fingers twitching getting ready for picking up the pen...Any day soon...Watch this space..

What next?

I must admit I for one have always thought that Ian Bailey was guilty of the murder of Sophie Toscan du Plantier. I am not alone in this thought . Who else could have killed her? We were told a woman had seen him with Sophie on that night. That was all of 16 years ago.  Then like a bolt out of the blue watching Vincent Browne again I sit in astonished silence. Can I believe what I am hearing.
The gardai had bribed this woman to say what she had and had also give drugs to a known addict in the town to further implicate Ian Bailey's partner.
This level of corruption is frightening.  Did the gardai think that because they were in the remote and beautiful west Cork that they would get away with it.. That no one would know any the better.
Now I ask myself if they were so determined to pin it on Ian Bailey what about a proper investigation. No helpful time of death was ever given as there wasnt a pathologist in Munster so her body had to lie where it had fallen for over a day until the State Pathologist could arrive.
What have the gardai got that can even  at this late stage sort this case out. Her family and indeed the French Authorities are entitled to it.
Should the facts that Ian Bailey was a blow in from Manchester who was seen by the locals as a bit wild, a bit odd; who on occasion was violent to his Welsh partner , make him a suspect in the rare event of murder in this part of Ireland. A suspect perhaps but never a signed and sealed murderer without a proper investigation.
How hard it must be for Sophie's family. How hard it must be for Ian Bailey.  Can you imagine the nightmare unfolding around you that you are actually being framed for .murder. 16 years and we are no nearer the truth.
This is a sad country let down by the Church, the Gardai and the State.