Dole Day Blues

Donegal Morning.............. ############################################### The cliffs wake slow, their edges pressed against a sky wild with distant light— a hush you can taste in your mouth............. ################################################ Here, the wind isn’t an idea, it’s a half‑spoken prayer that scours your face, then tucks itself behind your ears............ ############################################### In the fields, the grass stands stiff like old soldiers at attention, while peat smoke drifts from cottages, smudging the air with memory........... ############################################## A single sheep silhouette stands on the slope— patient, timeless, a witness to centuries in its wool........... ################################################# You dip your hand in cold spring water, let it fill your palm and slip through— tell me that’s not enough to feel alive............... ################################################# No pomp, no ceremony— just the restless sea smashing rock, sea‑salt tang in your lungs, and the quiet promise that the world will go on here, steady as a heartbeat, harsh as the wind, gentle as the light on a Donegal morning.