I was going to blog on the new book by my dear friend and colleague Niall Hickey of Maynooth in Ireland. But I’ve had vivid dreams recently, of people from well in the past, including, my paternal grandad who is asking me to think about him – something I haven’t done for a while.
It’s not October but I keep hearing the refrain ‘October-coloured weather’ in my mind, from the poem Memory of My Father by Patrick Kavanagh. You can read it here.
November is somehow an elegaic month and the long nights encourage deep dreaming. What are the riddles? Do they have answers? Who knows.
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I love the poem Vicky. It is a melancholy month – today the mist hasn’t lifted once and the lanes are thick with wet mud. Memory seems to be more easily accessed when there is little temptation to go out or do anything else. I’ve been trying to write about my father lately – inspired me to sit down and start again. X
Thanks Brigid, I love being able to picture you among the misty, apple-filled lanes of Normandy. November does seem laden with elegy. love to you both