T.

This morning, our neighbor Pat Fadden spent
about an hour in a training session with his dog
Jack, and the sheep. Pat wore knee-high green rubber
boots, and, (among other things) a blue bandanna.
Irish ninja. (I love binocs.) With a singular
hand-motion from Pat, Jack would take off at top speed
to the rear of the sheep, and they'd begin to run,
spreading out like a pitcher of cream spilled
down the hill. Then another motion from Pat, and Jack
would circle back, and the sheep (the poor confused sheep)
would turn and run the other way, up and down the hill,
again and again. Tireless, both master and dog.

The solstice yesterday, and after a dinner in town
at La Bella Vita, I took a beach walk down the driveway
from the house, the sun (at 9:30pm) still blazing
in the western sky. Croagh (Mt.) Patrick was veiled
in pink mist, and the cove all apricot and rose.
Rocky strand, no sand in sight. Periwinkles, kelp,
torn and twisted bits of fishing net, crab claw, mussels.
An otter emerged from an embankment den, sleek and wet,
chirruping, singing, praising the endless light.
No true darkness until well past 11pm, and then exhaustion
takes over, and we sleep.