I got home from my (second) barge holiday on Saturday and on Sunday I caught up with some of my favourite people on the phone. I spoke to my three children and my daughter-in-law, my two sisters, one of my brothers, and a friend.
Still there was that ache to ring my mother and tell her about the holiday. She died eighteen months ago. I wonder when I shall stop wanting to ring her every time I get home from being away.
Wet Evening in April
The birds sang in the wet trees
And as I listened to them it was a hundred years from now
And I was dead and someone else was listening to them.
But I was glad I had recorded for him
The melancholy.
Patrick Kavanagh
No comments:
Post a Comment