#45 The Wind Through My Antlers

Winter time can be a lonely time. December can be cold, wet and lonely and Christmas can be the loneliest time of all.

When I prance around the wet lands of Connemara that are carpeted with prickly heathers and dwarf gorse in search of food and companionship, there is hardly any colour but for the browns and grey of the soil and stone. I have learnt from my ancestors and instinct that in solitude we all learn to explore and as I stand on this high ground I observe the darkness and the sound of the ocean. The entire island is lit up like a Christmas tree lying flat on its belly. Dogs bark at my intrusion into their territory but this is my land, my home, the land of my ancestors, “Tir an Fhia”, the land of the deer.

I have my own home here at Carraig an Daimh where tonight I can smell the fragrance of the turf puffing chimneys. I hear in the distance music humming from the village. The midnight bell tolls to refresh my heart and remind me who I am. A child of the earth that lives from the earthly fruits of Connemara and how lucky am I that in this island of solitude, the stillness that is now so beautiful that I can feel the wind blowing through my antlers and reminding me in the stillness of this December Connemara night, it is my time to stop, stand, be silent and dream.

Good night from this Connemara stag.

The Mindful Farmer