Earlier this evening I went out to John’s Mountain to check on my herd of beautiful female deer – “hinds” – and their Romeo master stag.
After I climbed up the mountain top to the ringfort, I sat on my armchair boulder where many a generation past would have sat beneath me and the white thorn trees our ancestors from the Tuathe De Danainn are buried and in November came out to talk and dance with me.
As I looked through the branches of the trees across the valley, the lush green fields swayed in the wind, the small birds were singing everywhere, the black birds were scurrying through the bushes, the raven was hovering overhead, master bird of the skies in this mountain.
Up above, the evening sky was rose tinged with merlot black. The forest pine mixed with golden larch. T he canvas was special as the stream gushed through the rocks. I could feel the frosted November evening closing in.
I needed to head for home, thinking how lucky I am to be a farmer and how lucky I am to be mindful of this rare and breath taking beauty.
Be mindful of the beauty that surrounds you.
The Mindful Farmer