“Hello darkness, my old friend”

When the light goes out over my story, I hesitate to get up and make a coffee in an orange mug but I do it and go into the darkness. The wipers can not keep up with the ocean that pours in front of my eyes. I feel dizzy in my head for thirty minutes. And finally, I see that sheep also like to hide under a rock.

There is cold in the car and I do not want to go anywhere, but I wrest out like a newborn into a graphite-green air. Peat grass smells of relief, and  the sunless horizon becomes my home.

The rain washes my face, curls my hair, drips into my shoes and touches my toes when I cross the bridge. Wild ferns in dark green guipure lace and a ram that raises his velvet head from a vegetarian dinner welcome me on the road. I stop and stare at my company, the boulders in the soft grass are silent next to the wordy  stream. I turn off the vision of nicer weather.

Sometimes the light just disappears, but we still can discover something on this journey.

“Hello darkness, my old friend”

Kiedy nad moją historyjką gaśnie światło waham się by wstać i zaparzyć kawę w rudym kubku, jednak w końcu podnoszę się i ruszam w mrok. Wycieraczki nie nadążają ścierać oceanu, który leje się przed oczami. Przez trzydzieści minut wiruje mi w głowie. Aż wreszcie dostrzegam, że owce też lubią ukrywać się pod skałą.

Choć w aucie jest zimno, a mi wydaje się, że nigdzie nie chcę iść, wyrywam się jak nowo narodzona w grafitowo-zielone powietrze. Torfowa trawa pachnie ukojeniem, a bezsłoneczny widnokrąg staje się moim domem.

Deszcz myje mi twarz, zakręca włosy, skapuje do butów i dotyka palców u nóg, kiedy przekraczam most. Dzikie paprocie w ciemnozielonych koronkach i baran, który podnosi aksamitny łeb znad wegetariańskiej kolacji pozdrawiają mnie na drodze. Przystaję i gapię się na moje towarzystwo, głazy w miękkiej trawie milczą obok rozgadanego strumienia. Wyłączam wizję ładniejszej pogody.

Czasami po prostu światło znika, ale wciąż możemy coś odkrywać na tej wędrówce.

2 thoughts on ““Hello darkness, my old friend”

  1. This is so moving. I especially love the line: “And finally, I see that sheep also like to hide under a rock.” Your terrain is envious. Just curious, I always feel you are alone (emotionally and physically) in places like this, yet someone else must take your photo, right? Unless you have one with a timer? As a single person, I am curious. I don’t do selfies, and I rarely have recent photos of myself. You don’t need to answer—sometimes I am too literal 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Thank you, Sharon! Your question seems far-reaching. Usually in Connemara, I am with my husband, and he takes me photos. But, often I feel alone inside, and I feel like every detail of Connemara flow in my arteries. After the trip, this feeling still pierces me then I write a text or poem, sometimes long after the visit. In the mountain, we climb kind of alone, my husband like to be alone in the mountains, too. But there are always sheep very close. My loneliness is me, especially when I am close to nature, but I have often this feeling. Sometimes I travel alone. I used to be completely alone in the Tatra mountains 🙂

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s