Daily Archives: July 31, 2017

Fate of the Lir-Brood IX…

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“…know ye not, that so many of us as were baptised into Jesus Christ were baptised into his death?

Therefore are we buried with him by baptism into death: that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the Glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in the newness of life…”

 – Epistle to the Romans

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…Upon reaching the hermitage of Kemoc-the-Holy, king Largnen again requested that the Holy-Man release the four white swans into his charge.

And Kemoc again refused saying, “it is not within my power to so discharge these creatures.”

The king marched to the crude altar of stone at the centre of Kermoc’s cell on which the swans were resting, and grabbed the two slender silver-chains which linked them.

Tugging them from the rock towards the door of the cell, the silver-chains snapped, turning the head of the king, who was startled, to see the swans transform back into humans.

There stood Finnola, as an ancient crone, with Aedh, Fiachra and Conn beside her as three frail, old men.

King Largnen fled the hermitage in confusion.

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“Come, Holy-Man,” said Conn, “baptise us without delay for our death is near.”

“You will grieve after us,” said Fiachra, “but our leave taking is no longer sorrowful.”

“Make our grave here,” said Aedh, “and bury us together.”

“As we so often were in our life as swans,” said Finnola, “with Conn to my left, and Fiachra to my right, and Aedh before my very face.”

And the children of Lir were baptised, and so died, and were buried as they had requested in the shore-line garden of Kemoc-the-Holy.

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Green Light

The Silent Eye

sunday 060

Every day I drive the five mile stretch of road to my son’s home, then drive back. I do this seven days a week, every single day, except when I’m away. This stretch of road is an ‘A’ road… no parked cars, few turn-offs, just a couple of quiet junctions and very few bends. I know it well. I have been driving it daily for more than fifteen years. So well do I know it, that I barely have to think about it.

Nevertheless, all roads are alive in their own, particular way and taking notice reveals many surprises. This road passes through the fields and hedgerows of rural Buckinghamshire between the town and my village. Driving back today there were men giving the wide grass verges their annual trim and filling the air with that evocative scent of new-mown grass. Being a hot day, the cut grass dried quickly…

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