As I wanted the devil to say “aw shit she’s up” – well he certainly knew I was up the other day because – look at photo – rain and soot damage on wall in bedroom. The other half did not even notice it when he got up (so he said). He would not have won away had he woke me to see it – I’d have given out to him for waking me up to such bad news (he is a crafty devil knows what I’m like so he left me to blowout to myself).
Anyway the devil sure knew I was up and I suspect my neighbours did to, because once I took in what I was looking at – the language was loud and positively blue.
Wind had blown something across the roof one night about a week prior; we had look in the morning and could see nothing wrong. Then it rained and rained for days, we had not bothered going into the living room in the evening, we stayed in the kitchen where we had a fire going all day to save fuel.
We live in an old cottage so it has large stone built chimney which is un-fuelled. Whatever had blown across the roof had put a crack in the chimney top, which allowed more rain in and because we had no fire going the chimney was cold. Result the water soaked though and soot stained bedroom wall. Luckily it is not a full plaster job. Just a patch or two and then primer painted on. Anyway I cannot complain, so many more people have been flooded out of their homes here in Ireland and England this winter.
However it is Brigid’s Eve – (I know we can have bad winter weather yet) it marks the start of Spring – Imbolc – the season is turning.
Flight of small plinkings from a dulcimer
Like feminine rhymes migrating to the north
Where you faced the music and the ache of summer
And earth’s foreknowledge gathered in the earth.
Now it’s St Brigid’s Day and the first snowdrop
In County Wicklow, and this a Brigid’s Girdle
I’m plaiting for you, an airy fairy hoop
(Like one of those old crinolines they’d trindle),
Twisted straw that’s lifted in a circle
To handsel and to heal, a rite of spring
As strange and lightsome and traditional
As the motions you go through going through the thing.
A Brigid’s Girdle – for Adele
by Seamus Heaney