Kelson. May 29.
My days here in Cill Rialaig are full of mystery, wonder, and communion. Each morning, I throw open doors and windows to the day's offering: fog, rain, mist, haze, (almost never clear!), take my porridge out to the broad flat stone in the low wall that skirts my cottage, and consider the sea, the bounds of my being expanding beyond naming.
This morning's gift, which I now pass on: