Oh…So that is what the Swilly is for.
Thank you Mr Sun. We are so grateful that you are hanging out with us in Inishowen. Our pristine beaches are such a joy and it's great to see the children paddle in Lough Swilly without a scarf, coat and wellie boots.
Everyone is happy and wearing vests and cropped trousers, and summer dresses. I haven't cooked inside all week but I have had some gorgeous meals out of my picnic basket. Only for you, this would not be possible nor would I have been able to remind the clothes line of its use. There is something really fresh and magical about a line of washing dried by you in a sultry breeze.
Mr Sun, please stay around this summer. We really do need to feel your warmth and see everyone smiling. We are all funny colours now, pink, blotched, red, brown, golden but most of all we look healthy and glowing and the only rush on is the rush to the beach to spend time with you. Mr Sun we're loving it!
No time to pose. No time for snaps. No orchestrated photographs. (I did try. They totally ignored me!) Don't you love how children are just too busy to stop enjoying the moment.
Now, what are you two doing under there? Screening the sun? Sharing secrets? Swapping notes? What's that noise I here? Sounds like buttons being pressed. Giggles. Music? Electronic type music. You's aren't playing…? Couldn't be…on the beach? Surely not. Could they? Don't ask!
Every dream is as precious as a child's drawing in the sand. Mindfully, it is created with great deliberation and care, taking shape in an area of our minds where we don't want anyone to thread or trample on our plan or our drawing. We want it to become part of out reality. We want it to come alive and stay alive as long as we can protect it, as long as nature allows. Sometimes the dream does come true. Sometimes it fades. Sometimes the turning tide erodes our best efforts, wiping the slate clean but it always invites us to start again, to dream a new dream no matter how many times the tide turns. That's were nature differs from a human footprint. A footprint leaves a mark, a smudge, an imprint that can crush a carefully woven dream. Dreams are delicate. Ring fence your dreams and in your mind's eye put up a sign No Trespassing. I shall conclude this post with the thought-provoking words of Cloths of Heaven by William Butler Yeats that defines how delicate and precious our dreams are to each and every one of us and as illusive as the sands of time.
Cloths of Heaven
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.