Murmurations of Me

I’m sorry, it’s been a busy day. 

This morning went awkwardly well. We both kind of landed at the same time today, though he had a slight advantage. What a super beautiful morning, that low mist just barely hanging on top of fields that swirls when you walk through it like a layered dress when you twirl. Cobwebs prominent and glistening like chandeliers hanging from gates and bushes illuminated by a sleepy sun peeking over the hill. Heaven. A crisp morning heading for a glorious day ahead of sunshine and lollipops. 

I ignored the elephant (as did he) and super excitedly pointed out all the little things that make me smile for the first ten minutes, then let him point out his - he’s a quieter walker than I am, he made me tiptoe a little and carry the dog to catch rabbits unawares to hear them thump their little feet (a warning signal apparently), then pointed out Thumper in Bambi and the reason he most likely got the name. And then we meandered in silence for a while, sucking in all that gorgeous air and mellowing out nicely as the sun had its first sip of coffee and blinked awake properly. it was just nice. 

We found our halfway point, sat gingerly, both knowing what was to come, but neither wanting to talk. So that’s exactly what I said: “we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” That vast expanse of sea and sky ahead of us couldn't distract me long enough to keep my eyes from the glance I had to take. I had to. He was smiling! “Thank you, but I’m ok today. I’m sorry about yesterday, but it was our anniversary. I always forget it, and then the reminder comes up on my phone.” Well now what’s a girl to say to that? So I went with “fucking technology.” 

Well apparently that was the right response in some fashion, because he laughed and laughed for a good few minutes. And no, it wasn’t one of those infectious laughs that you laugh with, it was one of those ones they have on YouTube or something because it sounds so utterly ridiculous! The man laughs quite similarly to a donkey 😬. So then I laughed to, and he knew I was quite clearly laughing at him because of the most shocked face I’ve ever had, and clearly that was even funnier because he then laughed more 🤷‍♀️. Ffs, what a ridiculous few minutes. 

Anyways, once we gathered our senses, we watched the cormorants and gannets diving for breakfast, he told me all about them, wingspan, lifespan, usual cause of death, a full on lecture on seabirds (some of which I knew, and some I genuinely didn’t!) So I just sat and listened, and it was actually ok. He interspersed it all with stories about their life and what they enjoyed doing together, and he seemed at peace with it all. 

The dog finally got impatient and demanded some movement from us both, so off we wandered again. We didn’t talk much then. I can’t speak for him, but it was such a glorious morning I don’t think I could have. The last of the wildflowers are still lending colour to ditches and hedges, petals heavy with water from the dewy morning but still opening to welcome the sun, birds chatting and swooping playing games of tag in a windless sky, and little rabbits thumping their feet telling all the others about the idiot humans carrying a wriggling dog tiptoeing up the road towards home. 

We reached our crossroads almost without noticing and almost parted ways without saying goodbye, both distracted though I can’t say why he was. A chuckle this time from both of us, then a laugh from me when I remembered his. “Alright, alright, I can’t help it,” evidenced he knew the cause. I blushed a little at that, but knew it wasn’t the first time he’s gone through it. Suddenly all the lines on his face didn’t seem to be from pain and grief anymore, a few were creased from the broad beam across his face, wrinkles around his eyes, a few around his mouth. It made me smile more. 

“Same time tomorrow?” I enquired. He dropped his eyes, the smile still playing on his lips. “Same time tomorrow, but wear boots.” Fml, hill walking by the sounds of it.

MLP 

I almost feel guilty writing this morning.

Misty moody Monday morning greeted me today, not a “sense of foreboding” type of a day, just the type that let’s you listen. Even the dog was just a little more sluggish, but we still ventured out. Down the hill we wandered, no sniffing stops for a change but no great energy behind our steps.

I made it before him this morning, so had the advantage of silent observation for a change. His long loping strides seemed somehow off, out of sync with his own body. His hands were stuffed into his pockets which I found strange as the morning wasn’t cold enough for that. His eyes were down too, not raising from the road, not taking in the beauty of the glistening morning dew, not finding fantastic cobwebs lit up by droplets of water. He only glanced up just steps away from me, “morning, will we go?”

We took a gentler route, more roads than tracks, but the great advantage being one stunning spot that makes it seem flat-earth era are correct in their beliefs as the horizon just seems to encapsulate us in one huge bubble. The added bonus is a sturdy wall to plonk your ass too. He didn’t speak. He didn’t look up. He just walked. I’ve heard the expression “the silence was deafening” so many times in my life, and I thought I understood. I do today. That enormous roar in your ears from the situation, the awkwardness of not knowing what to say, the sound of your heart pounding in your ears from pure dread, the giant elephant in the room trumpeting and storming around - what was wrong. The indecision of it all - ask him what’s wrong - no, you don’t know him well enough to ask that - no, you should - no, it’d be rude. And then I remembered him asking me, and felt a little braver. 

We stopped, we sat, eyes seaward I tried my hardest to ignore all the screaming arguing voices in my head and just enjoy the peace, and then my gorgeous pupper broke through to both of us. He jumped onto his lap, vocal as ever, and pushed himself into those strong arms. It was then I looked at his face properly and saw the trails from salty tears on that weathered face of his. And I found my words: “Do you want to talk about it?” I really struggled to stay looking at him and not hug him, but I did. His shoulders slumped and rounded, his arms and hands holding my dog close and burying them into his soft warm fur, one leg crossed over the other making a little nest for him to hold him. “I haven’t found the words for the last seven years, I don’t know if I can now either.” Fresh tears followed, just rivers of wetness following the wrinkles and lines etched into his skin and dripping down on the dog’s waiting body. “What happened seven years ago?” was all I could manage, my body feeling cuffed and bound by my own mind and not in a good way. “I lost my wife.” Wow, I never knew he was married. He only moved here a few years ago. “I’m sor…” I didn’t get to finish.  “Fuck it, I didn’t lose her. She was stolen from me. The bastard should’ve taken me too.” And then he looked at me, the rage, the anguish, the emotion on his face terrified me. His eyes burned into mine, yet another expression I hadn’t understood before. “Drunk driver.” 

The dog was licking his face, trying desperately to stop those tears from falling. I was frozen, numb, no idea what to say or what to do. But I couldn’t look away either. Brace for impact, MLP, this is going to go one of two ways: it’ll work, or he’ll walk off and not look back. “I straightened my back, crossed my legs, rested my hands in my lap, relaxed into the cold stone and took a breath: “Tell me about her, please.” 

He stayed. He sighed. That giant body took on the persona of a small child, tears pouring so hard and fast I thought he’d surely run out soon. And then he told me about her. 

We were late getting back, the divide in the road where we both headed home from seeming ominous, scary, empty as we approached it. I didn’t want to let him go home alone, but I had a school run to do. We stopped at the cross, silent again, my own hands shoved into my pockets this time staring down at my feet. “Same time tomorrow?”, the growl was back. I looked up, his back was rigid and straight, his posture alone almost challenging me to say no, arms crossed, defences enabled. Challenge accepted: “Can we go a little earlier so we can talk more?” I replied. He smiled, a few fresh tears started down his face. I gave up on stopping myself, broke the bounds of my mind, reached up and rubbed them away, then gave him a hug. He held on a little longer when I tried to pull away, bent double to bury his head against me and growled a “thank you” against my neck. 

So I’m sitting here, school run done, a picture painted in my mind of the beautiful woman torn from him, stolen from him, wondering if he’s ok. I still don’t know what happened, I don’t know if I ever will. But he doesn’t seem as ominous as he did a couple of days ago. Those wrinkles and lines carved across his face are from pain. The endless physical work he does makes sense now. The silence exists because he just can’t find the words. Dammit, now I’m crying. 

Hug your loved ones today, and hold on a little longer than usual please. Don’t do it for me, do it for yourself, and do it for him. 

Much love, 

MLP

This morning was slightly less sunny for my walk, eerily calm but a little overcast. Before I left the house, thoughts and ponderings on his presence were on my mind distracting me from all those little things which usually catch my attention. I found myself looking for him, searching the horizon to see if he was there before me. I probably left too early. Dammit now should I wait for him or just slow down? The dog was having none of the slowing down business, so on we walked. 

Turning the last corner, I glanced down the straight stretch of road to see him standing there with his back to me, legs spread slightly, hands on his hips which he seemed to be rolling a little, gazing seaward. I smiled to myself, delighted with the opportunity to sneak up on him today. But then he turned. He turned and he trapped my gaze. And then the most unnerving thing ever, he smiled and gave a wave. 

His long strides quickly reached me, smile still in place, eyes still on mine though I did have to drop my gaze not used to the intensity of his. A tentative good morning left my lips, to be met with that oh so wholesome gravelly voice of his replying he wasn’t sure if he’d left too early and whether he should wait. I laughed, suddenly comforted by his mirrored insecurity at our haphazard arrangements for this morning. “You too then?” I queried. “Me too”, he chuckled back. 

We opted for the cliff walk, both enthusiastic with energy in our steps. His silent strength gave comfort on the more difficult sections, my mind constantly wondering how such a brute of a man was agile enough to take on walls and ditches with such ease and grace. For the first half hour, he left me to my own devices for the most part, but then proffered a hand on an older less stable stone wall when the stones moved where I stood. In my defence, I did have the dog lead in one hand…! 

No, I’m not interested in this man.  No, I’m not attracted to him. No, I’m not looking at him in this way. But I am fascinated by him. It’s so difficult to find someone to walk with who doesn’t want to chat incessantly, who doesn’t want to discuss the local population in depth, who doesn’t want to make pleasantries, who just enjoys getting out and sharing the sight of a cormorant swooping and diving for breakfast, who stops not because they’re breathless from exertion but because the life around them has taken their breath away. 

We stopped for a while and sat. He asked how my day was yesterday, I asked about his. The dog climbed into my lap for a rest and I listened to that low growl of his as he told me about his evening. I watched the world pass by, and I just listened. 

We started the decline towards home, barren fields giving way to greener lusher pastures. Senses come alive at the smell of bacon cooking in a house nearby, the Sunday morning ritual of many bringing me back down to earth. A hand on my elbow as I climb a stile with the dog in one hand, I watch him throw one leg on the gate beside then launch himself over the top. The hand is back as I turn to climb back down. 

The road feels heavier on my feet now, to be honest I’m a little sad that the walk is nearly over. We reach where we need to part ways, both stopping, both turning. The growl is back, “thanks for the company, I enjoyed that.” I can’t meet his gaze, afraid of what he’ll see, what’s bare and clear that I can’t hide. “I enjoyed it too.” God I sound like a deflated teenager who has to get home before curfew. “Same time tomorrow morning?” I finally bring my eyes up, “I’ll be looking forward to it,” a hot blush following my admission as I turned to take my own road home. 

Warm hugs (coffee) waited for me at home, silent empty rooms not seeming so silent or empty. My only hope being he doesn’t read into it all. 

MLP

Oh the smell of a Saturday is intoxicating, throwing open the window and sucking in the lush heady scent early in the morning is an absolute assault on the senses when it’s the day after the rain. It smells of promise, it smells of fun and laughter, it smells of clean washing, it smells of contentment. 

Through the silence of calm, sounds of birds, tyres of cars still slick against wet roads, the sound of a community awakening after a deep two-day slumber forced upon them by Mother Nature (us Irish do love to talk about the weather…!). 

Light is blinding on a morning like today’s, every surface is clear reflection of strong sunshine before the wetness evaporates off - even the grass glares back at you, making you avert your eyes from its freshly washed nakedness. 

Finally the feelings come, feet tip-toe through soft yielding soil as we wander our way through worn tracks and trails, dodging worms and slugs and snails making the most of the moisture while it lasts. 

I’m taken aback by a soft growl on my way home. A weathered face deeply etched with lines of pure exertion a reflection of the rugged landscape in which we live is now opposite me growling a good morning. I was so lost in my own world I hadn’t heard him catch up to me, my senses already overwhelmed to the point it let nothing else in. “Good morning”, I reply. I’m surprised by his presence, all he ever seems to do is work yet here he is in worn walking boots that have certainly seen as many tracks as my own. 

I’m not sure how, but he’s suddenly lulled me into a sense of safety, the low calm rumble of his gravelly voice chatting about the weather of the week ahead and the evenings drawing in soothing the insecurities I had about this beast of a man - you know the type, silent, all brawn, seldom seen or known to engage in pleasantries or the renowned circumlocution of the Irish. 

He meets my silent observations with his own, clearly lost in thought himself absorbing the overloaded senses the calm after the storm has to offer. A loud wave from the sea below us brings us both back to our senses and I start to say goodbye and go to move off. His hand stops me as I turn, it takes me by surprise that I hadn’t realised how close together we were standing. He asks rather sheepishly if I’m ok and I don’t know what to say, so he follows with his observation that I’ve been absent from my usual tracks of late taking to the quieter less used ones. I’m shocked, clearly shown on my face as he starts to apologise. How had I not noticed him walking before? 

“I was just worried about you, I hadn’t seen you for a while and I thought maybe something was wrong.” Every hair on my body is standing on end, every sense screaming at me to leave, to run, to get out of there. The panic must have shown, his hand dropped and his eyes fell, a hit red flash on his skin showed his embarrassment. He took a step backwards, and then “I’m sorry if I’ve scared you. It’s just you’re the only company I seem to have and you disappeared.” I released the breath I didn’t realise I was holding, my lungs aching and screaming for another. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t notice you walking before today.” His eyes come up, they search my face, a look of concern passes through his own in response to whatever he’s seeing in my own. “I know, you’ve been lost in your own world for a while now.” I don’t know quite what to say. Then “Would you mind if I walk with you?” 

And that, dear people, is how I’ve ended up with a walking buddy. We walked on in silence for the most part, just two people enjoying nature, stopping every now and then to just breathe the salty air and let it all soak in. 

MLP

The chuckles and high-pitched giggles make it all worthwhile, aiming for enormous puddles and watching waves of water blur my vision of the road in front of me. She might be a teenager, but driving through puddles still makes her laugh. 

The rain was horrific last night, even by Irish standards. I woke this morning to a deluge hammering against walls and windows, watched the dog bound towards the door to go out only to slide to a halt deciding his morning ablutions could wait until the shower passed. But he stood, and he waited. the teen wandered downstairs, took one look outside and, a little defeated, decided riding wasn’t an option today. And then her face lit up when she proclaimed her excitement at driving through puddles on the way to school. Each possible huge one on each bend, twist and blocked drain on the road was discussed with such enthusiasm it made me smile. The dog decided the rain has disappeared long enough to go and relieve himself, and then he, too, at the grand old age of 11 decided to play in the puddles in the garden. He bounded from one to the other with abandon, pouncing in each one and then trying to catch the droplets as they fell back down. Soaked and sated, he landed himself at my feet to be dried off, tongue lolling and tail wagging at the prospect of all the rubs and cuddles. 

Where oh where did I get these wonderful souls? Happy Friday all

MLP

Warning: verbal diarrhoea incoming…

So I’d disappeared off for a while, angry at life but thrown in at the deep end by it all, hectic crazy days followed by mournful dark sleep-deprived nights where even the most agonising day’s work could not bring me sleep. (To be fair to life though, she did throw me the curve ball of me rapidly losing weight so that’s always a bonus…)

I watched the season end here in rural Ireland with a gladness and a sorrow as peace returned to our rugged coast but left us bereft of the happy cheerfulness that aggravates us locals in the busy times. A child’s laughter can bring such joy even on the darkest of days. Ive watched the cars leave, the caravans pull out, one by one the rental cars disappear from our roads leaving us free to plan our days instead of our time spent in our own cars trying to get from A to B. Ive watched children return to school, parents gleefully waving off their babies at the gates as they disappear off to have coffee and a catch-up, or head for work and routines only they know. Ive watched it all, and I’ve been stood still. 

Throughout this pandemic, I’ve also watched everyone else stop while I ran a never ending race against the world (or at least that’s how it felt). I watched some families grow together, making joy out of nature for the first time, generational gaps pulled together through story-telling, zoom quizzes, children shoulder to shoulder with grandparents as they learned to sink fence posts and wrestle unwilling sheep. Ive also watched families fall apart, not being able to cope with being together all of the time, their patience incapable of getting them past who left the toilet seat up (or down) or whose turn it is to do the dishes or walk the dog. Through it all, I’ve ached for any or all of that. 

My race has been with myself, with finding the holy trinity of Me Myself and I. It’s not over yet, so I still walk (I’ve actually managed to get back running too but that’s a blog for another day). I find my way along cliffs and coast, along hills and mountains, the undulating topography giving way for my aching body and mind. 

Today was no different really, except I’ve come to realise something rather profound. Ive realised what it is that all this wandering is doing to me. Ive realised what all the cleaning and redecorating is doing to me. Ive realised what it is I’m searching the vastest depths of Mother Nature for but what she can never give to me. And finally I’ve made peace with it. 

Ive come out of an absolute mindfuck of a summer (if you’ll excuse my French). But I’m still me. No person can take that away. A true friend of mine kept telling me “you can’t say someone has upset you - you can only say you’ve allowed yourself to be upset by them.” So I’m applying this everywhere I go. 

Onwards and upwards people. Much love. 
MLP

So I’m sitting here, raging - fuming and utterly livid would be closer to the truth, all be told. So yeah, words are my thing as any of you who actually know me truly know. And mine are always measured and careful. 

So words. Words have infuriated me. Not so much the actual words, but the dishonesty behind them. Why do people think it’s ok to play on the heartstrings of others on the basis of dishonesty? Why not tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth? Why? How? I simply don’t understand the human psyche, the human mentality that can justify this to themselves and still cope? 

I’m so goddam confused right now - and angry. Good Lord I’m angry… 

Anyone have any answers for me…? Please do enlighten me, I’d greatly appreciate it. To me, at least, a lie is still a lie even if it’s a lie by omission? 

Just read this elsewhere, and it may have made me tear up a little:

“Men… Your woman’s horse will see her soul way before you ever will. They can smell her miles away, you’ll spend €100 on Chanel to smell her just a few feet away. Her horse knows her secrets. They can dry her tears. She can wrap her arms around their neck, and they can take her to the nearest water, when you can’t even open her car door. And yet you wonder why in a lady’s darkest hours she will run to the barn. 

When you fail her, her horse won’t. “

- unknown

Bone weary, working on autopilot, loading and unloading and loading all over again. The steady powerlessness of need giving more energy and focus to the blurred monotony of routine. His cries are deafening while I attempt with fat fingers to rub and soothe and I feel my anger rise and burn slowly. I tighten my grip on the rope that holds him, yanking hard and fast to remind him who’s boss.

He cries out again, dancing in a circle around me as I try to wash him, cold water to soothe his aching muscles from the antics of the last hour. I pushed him hard, the sweat pooling on his supple body. He flinches from the cold against his skin and tries to break free once more, crying out again and calling her name, no longer mine but hers once more. 

I wrap him up as he wails again, soft fleece against his trembling body. I try to bring him in close to me, but he pulls away. I resign myself to his need now, and begin walking him towards her. His excitement builds, I can feel it from him. And then he sees her, soft shiny locks glistening in the sun. I envy her demeanour, her obvious need reflected in his. He’s not mine now, but hers. His anger shows as he calls her again, his impatience to be with her screaming in my ears. I finally let him go to her, their embrace one of longing and pleasure should be a joy to behold. Envy courses through me instead.  

Bloody horses 🙄  

Horses: even they need aftercare though they may not appreciate it. 

I slept in this morning, a whole extra two hours… Sun streaming, another wave of heat to bring forth a new and glorious week - and even better, one where I won’t be working! 

Sprung out of bed, had my warm hug with the pupper tucked in beside me looking out at the clothes I hung out blowing in a soft breeze, imagining how good they’ll smell when I put them on. Then that little niggle of hollow emptiness hits. 

I shook it off, relished that last mouthful of coffee, pupper wagging his tail like a helicopter knowing my morning rituals better than I know them myself (time for a walk), that longing hopefulness in his warm brown eyes begging for a longer one than he’s been getting of late. So off we set, zero expectation or intention, just letting him guide me along the tracks and trails and cliffs aplenty.

We wandered for hours, him taking in every sight and sound and smell, me trying to fill the void that can’t be filled. I didn’t know I was crying, but there it is.  Those hot salty tears cascade in torrents down my cheeks leaving trails as the sun helps them disappear as quickly as they’re pouring. I feel the heat, not the sun this time, anger. It starts like a dark knot midway in my chest, builds like the waves below me rolling to their end against the rocks. But there’s no end for me. Just white hit anger that bubbles and boils inside me. 

Down the cliff we roam, pupper looking to me now for where we’re going next. He knows, he always knows bless his little soul. I listen intently to his paws on the road instead, the putter patter of his pads hitting the surface a wonderful distraction while the sadness creeps back in slowly but surely pushing the anger back out. I stop at the crossroads, home or the beach again? I’m not quite ready to face home, so the beach it is. 

Pupper is confused where I turn off, the “side entrance” to the beach. I see holes in the sand, made by my own horses yesterday as they frolicked and snorted with bursts of endless energy at getting down there. I sit for a minute, pupper climbing onto my lap, exactly where one had rolled on the end of the lunge line having spent endless minutes sniffing and pawing before eventually choosing this spot. I think “why here?” all the time. Why this spot? This giant expanse of sand has softer and harder offerings beneath the feet. So why this very spot?

Pupper is licking my face. The tears have started again. I hold him close for a moment, not sure if I’m reassuring him or me exactly but it needed doing. Off to the rocks we go, searching for - well I don’t know really. Calm? Peace? Answers? Well I didn’t find them this time, so it’s irrelevant I suppose. 

Homeward bound, I take in this beautiful place basking in sunshine, the silence confirmed by the migration of tourists and calm restored to nature. The gorse is coming into full bloom, yellow blazes across the green hillsides lighting them up like the fires that shall inevitably replace them soon. 

It makes me think of the horses, that they’re back in work and need riding today. Then the sadness comes back. Maybe just a pamper day for them today instead, it may be a better option all round.