POEM: Brigid’s Way by Brid McDonnell

It was the day of Saint Brigid’s walk from Faughart to Kildare.
Patrick the piper played a melodious tune.
Weather turned warm.
Water, iced or ordinary, and biscuits.
Sitting on the stone steps,
I watched the crowd gradually erupt into joy.

Pat told the story of earth mother and saint,
Well spring he drank.
Met old acquaintances there, we talked of those times.
Pleasant, warm.
Pat welcomed me.

Back to where the other walkers were
I had conversation with Dolores.
Intermingled.
We sat on the grass talking and got the feel of the pilgrimage.
Happy.

Dolores and Karen took charge.
We stood around the altar on the ground
In a wide circle.
We brought in the four directions.
The North, the South, the East, the West.
And Earth, Heaven.

Held hands and danced and chanted.
We wished those going on the walk good fortune,
Experiential of Brigid, the pilgrimage,
The countryside they would walk through.
Then the core group came in and took Brigid´s gifts
For the long journey.
Tom stamped their passports.

It was as if we were in love with one another,
Exchanged smiles, words, glances.

Patrick began his ancient tune
And they followed on the first leg of the Way,
Leaving the field in a forming line as I found my lift,
Jodi and Sinead.

And in my soul I said goodbye
To the participants of that holy day.