Then it would take ages....lol. But ok, I put a bit:
Chapter 1
It was the first time I didn´t stand alone upon the cliffs, there between wind and sea in the last dim of the sun that gave its crimson to the spray of the waves. Almost each evening I came here when the silence of the island was only interrupted by the cries of the seagulls and when there was nothing left to do. It was for me like the echoe of the years on Inishmore, the years of my childhood an youth. I had left my home island to learn, to study, to become a teacher myself and to see more of the big world behind the endless horizon. And although they had captured me again – the eternal wind, the open space of the sea, the cries of the seagulls. They stayed with me, inside of me, while family and friends had come and go. They rested in my heart in all those years. And even in the narrow rooms of the university in Dublin seemed to hear and to see them and to taste the salt of the Atlantic on my lips.
I wanted to leave, to Scandinavia maybe or to America like so many of my people. I wanted to live new things, see new things, other grounds and other people.
And I really left the coasts of Ireland an crossed the sea. But the shore I reached wasn´t that different from the Cliffs of Moher or the rocks below Dûn Aengus. And the language of the people here was the same lovely melody as in my home place, in its music there was the same brave loneliness and hope as on Inishmore. And I began to feel that my soul would have gone dry without it like a tree without roots, that this land and people gave me the strength I needed.
So I was teaching the old language and geography since half a year in the Primary School of Uig, a village on the island of Skye in the northwest of Scotland. I had found new friends. Neighbours who lived like me outside the village in little cottages and houses, far enough from each other to be able to listen to the sound of the waves and the wind, and close enough to gather on rainy, windy days. Then they would light up the peat fires in the chimneys, mix the whiskey with hot water, playing music or talking about politics, weather and football. Or we all sat together in the old VW-bus of John Wallace, one of my neighbours and drove to the pubs of Uig.
But more than this I loved the walks along the high and rocky coast of Skye. Right behind my cottage there was a small path passing stone-surrounded fields and stormbent trees up to the cliffs and along the coastline. On free evenings like this one I went along there until the last light of day still was bright enough for the way back. And rarely I met people out there. Maybe a farmer coming back from his fields or some tourists who lost their way.
So it was strange that this time someone was standing by the cliffs. From my way over there I already had seen the silhouette of a person, a shape against the darkening sky. I was thinking about changing my direction this time. I even thought for a moment about the stories my grandpa told me about the selkies, seals that turn into human beings to take the people from the coasts with them to the ground of the ocean. I smiled and shook my head. Then I walked on the usual path and stood still in a distance beside the rocks that fall down to the sea.. With curiosity I looked over to the shape beside me. It was a man I had never seen before in this region. He stared down to the foamy waves that rolled against the cliffs three hundred feet below us, and he didn´t even seem to realize that he wasn´t alone any more.
His bright hair and his pullover still could be seen in the incoming darkness, but I couldn´t see his face. I wasn´t sure wether I should talk to him or just make my way back home. So I went on standing there, silent like the man, and let the strong westwind blow against me. Somehow I felt that the unknown man didn´t want to talk, and I didn´t want to break the silence.
My souls starts to sing with the breathing waves
On their restless move through the day
And my heart feels the joy of the evening breeze
As the boats return to the bay.
(MartinaBC)
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