farraige.

somewhere, deeply, i recall

the years, centuries past, when

on northern shores howled wind

unrelenting, through chiseled stone

earthen, moss, no warmth

no safety in small numbers, 

turned inward along rough cliffs

spirits of wood, of rock, of sea

whose faces, forms, mingled with dappled light

through trees, shadows, sea foam rushing

what fear, looking to the sky

envisioning it alive, stalking panthers 

rustling through stars in velvet heavens

as distant gods gaze down

and take no notice