Ocean reflecting clouds, fishing boats sails
Reefed, Papa and I working nets, wet-heavy
Weight, peering deep into still water. “You
May see another face,” Papa said, “another
Fairy-self, lifetimes past, watery appearing,
Disappearing.” Perplexed, into water I gazed,
Familiar reflections, pondering Celtic past,
Gaelic we spoke, island families. Could
Another self, hidden inner voice, linger
Amongst light-shimmering waves?
“Do you have another self?” I asked, fish
Flip-flopping at our feet. As Papa shared,
He first ignored his watery self, guiding
Sail-rustling voice, “Scudding clouds,
Keep weather eye.” Or, “Strong currents,
Out-flowing tides, too much for fishing
Sailboats.” As boats beached, Papa upon
Dry land stepped, his guiding voice returned
To waves or cloud, reflecting ocean lights,
Presence awaiting, distant sea horizons.
Days later, Papa I confided, my other self
Hillside-lingered, fairy girl my age, secrets
Shared, soft singing, running barefoot just
Beyond my reach. “Where do you live?” I
Asked. Stone ruins she led me, into crevice
She disappeared. “Celtic wanderers, we loved
These islands. Guiding voices, we have become.
Companion I will be,” wind-whispered at my
Ear. On rocky heights, we agreed, sisters past,
Present. “What name?” I asked. “Brygidt,
Beckoned from clifftops, sea clouds.”
Do we have guiding voices from clifftops or clouds?
Written whilst listening to “The Ecstasy of Gold – Theremin
and Voice,” Ennio Morricone. Thanks for reading.