The Corrib River stumbled, bumbled and rumbled over invisible stones, an ululating black veil tinged, tripped and dipped with silver dashing sparks appearing and disappearing like the staccato blasts of the morning lark with a steady rush of the water gush
The Vikings still live in Ireland Celts as well, these are not tales I tell yet they can rival some of the best. Ye will find these wild men and women of Ireland living in the West.
With Six string axe and four string cudgel battering ram drum between legs quiver of songs, a fiddle crooked strong in the cleft of chin and neck, bent and beating out a cavalcade, a serenade, the whistle, bones the tones of breath through pipe and fife… gusts of energy pure in life; a long haired gypsy in a dress playing the clarinet.
That Celtic woman too, spinning her hips in a hula hoop, barely moving so gently grooving, smoothing and softening the air... A kinetic pulse and twist in the wetness.