By James Caruth
Five thousand years ago
they raised this mound
to house their dead,
dug two ditches around its edge,
etched on kerbstones, visible
and invisible cycles of the moon.
Darkness weighs like a stone.
Somewhere a rat is scratching,
the sour air trembles at the throb
of a tiny heart, the quick insistence
of claws seeking carrion, whetting teeth
on bare bone. Night settles.
The walls are closing in.
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Our dryer's broken temperature control has finally been fixed, so our trip laundries are finally finished! That was the big event here on Tuesday, apart from a trip to the dentist so Paul could get a crown glued back on that fell off in Ireland and I could do some shopping while he was in the chair. There were eagles flying over the Safeway, so I'm guessing there are salmon in the stream that runs behind it.
My Voyager group watched "Shattered" which was as delightful as we had remembered it being; I'm going to pretend that was the series finale and the rest is bad fanfic. Afterward we saw the end of the Dodgers game over dinner, then this week's Only Murders in the Building (Melissa and Meryl!). Some pics from Knowth at Brú na Bóinne, which has at least 18 tombs and a vast amount of megalithic art:
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