The evening was not promising but I headed for the car.                                

The Path above Lough Derg would do me good. 

I had not bargained quite for what would come.

From the west, over Seedavog Mountain, the rain came in:

big single drops at first, then steady, heavy, cold and mixed with hail.

Hood up, head down, I forged along,

my trousers wet below the jacket hem.

The run-off from the mountain filled the little streams,

rushing brown and noisy to the lough.

But as I left the pines the rain had passed

and Station Island caught the evening sun.

Heads down, like me, the sorrel had survived,

a butterfly on a briar warmed its wings

and the way ahead was lit with golden light.

By the time I reached the car my knees were dry.

Fr La Flynn, Prior

24 May 2021