Grey Monday

In Kilmartin I walked for whole days, no matter what the weather was like, moved by an intimate and powerless anger that gradually eased, changing into a beneficial energy. I went back to the place of my childhood, and found my familiar ghosts. Closing my eyes I heard my mum’s clear blethering, her young woman’s voice echoing that of my father, who was still alive at the time. They were talking in Gaelic, thinking that I didn’t understand. They weren’t totally wrong: I could pick up on the subject no bother, but the gist of their conversations was totally meaningless to me. It wasn’t until later that I understood. Through an intimate initiation, a slow introspection that still makes me evolve. My memory was lit up by a new light.