Once upon a time a long time ago I lived in the cottage of the storyteller on an island off the west coast of Irelsnd.From 1975 to 1979 I dwelt in the simple cottage with a thatched roof.I had no running water or electricity.
My source of heat was a coal fire that I renewed every day.
Every day I went to the spring well for water.
Now the years have passed and I still find myself going down the boreen lane to draw from the well org memory. Over the years I have slowly crafted a memoir about my primitive inner life on the island. Other moments in my life provoke other musings and writings,but the tide always comes in for this body of work. I wade into the deep waters and reach for my poignant and precious memories that cone to the surface.While there I wove belts on a simple loom for a small living. The metaphor of weaving remains a central one as I integrate events that followed with the stark introspective life I lived there.I continue to weave this memoir of poems and drawings.