The cottage stands silent on the little hill.
Jack, SammyBear and I head off down the cottage lane for a walk.
The clock salutes the hour of ten, as night begins its descent in the west of Ireland.
As we move towards Midsummer, the light holds sway.
I carry words in my head as we make the descent along the little lane, planted on either side with generous intent.
The words were spoken by a Native American many years ago, but are as relevant today as they were then…perhaps more so.
“Wherever forests have not been mowed down, wherever the animal is recessed in their quiet protection, wherever the earth is not bereft of four-footed life – that to the white man is an ‘unbroken wilderness.’
But for us there was no wilderness, nature was not dangerous but hospitable, not forbidding but friendly.
Our faith sought the harmony…
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