Rachel lazed, cradled in the belly of the hooker and ankle deep in the shoals of sleep.  She heard the cry of sea birds, their scrii and yop an occult patois she might almost fathom.  If she could unravel its mystery, she’d know the secrets of the air. 

Her head lay pillowed on nets pungent with brine, kelp, and the detritus of yesterday’s catch. 

And just now, above the bird gabble and water slapping on the strakes she hears the creak of oarlocks and drifting bits of conversation between Da and Brendan, her man. The woody perfume of Da’s pipe twitches her nose. Their familiar voices gyre and mingle with sea smells and sounds as she drifts suspended where time bends.  In the void just before sleep, she hears the echo of a baby’s coo. 

The sultry, oyster pink sky is gravid with rain.  She’ll tell Brendan her secret after supper.

The foregoing is inspired by the painting Morning Haze by Terrick Williams, which may be seen in the Crawford Gallery, Cork.

Published by

RTE 1 – ‘100 Stories’

December 2014