I dreamed that I stood in the shade and gazed on the swirling river.
I dreamed of life, and loves, and walking through memory
‘til scents and sounds and touch stole into the day with shyness,
and dreams felt like reality and joy.
The mill is silent but the river still sings it’s quietness or drums to a crescendo. When returning home, the walk to the river is always a pilgrimage and a time to remember.
The river and the mill are still closely knit. The great swell of water brought prosperity to a village whilst the constant hum of machinery transformed raw flax into linen thread to go all over the world.
The Mourne at Sion is a river of many voices. From quiet currents passing by, the waters can swell to thunder. When the floods come and the sluices open, the roaring can make my whole body vibrate.
I watch the water cascading on the carry, and the lone heron. There must be another somewhere? Still water and mirrored bushes transform quickly into a torrent where there is rarely any silence. Maybe just with a hard frost the waters may freeze to quiet.
Or in the quiet of moonlight, sound is murmuring music.
All lies still…….
The river keeps its own secrets in its dark depths.
Stillness is deceptive. The waters are eddying, swirling, drawing deeply, then reflecting light, blue or grey, cloud or sunshine, showing a semblance of peace to the passing world.
Below the great sluices are the sandy beds and the brown peaty pool for swimming and diving …. and always the swirling and foaming of the struggling current.
Quiet now, for there’s men fishing, their waders deep in the stream, rods taut and expectant. Trout, brown and white, salmon, silver and glistening will be brought home and fried to a crisp juiciness. Bread and butter or boiled spuds, maybe salad from the garden …. what greater delight …. !
And who caught the heaviest this season?
Through woodland paths the lade creeps towards silent turbines. The sad, deserted buildings wait their lives away. But the trees of past and future beauty carry on reflecting and the water holds so many stories still.
I came last September. And I’ve brought our children.
I came coortin here, and they were good times.
This is one of those places I’ll call ‘home’.