Where faeries be

In a cleft that's christened Alt
Under broken stone I halt
At the bottom of a pit
That broad noon has never lit,
And shout a secret to the stone.

From Man and The Echo by William Butler Yeats


The Alt

There's a spot in Sligo that is not marked with signage nor found on tourist maps. One has to be taken there by another who knows.

It is a place of magic. Yeats called it Alt. It is other.

YC had been there twice before, but she was driving this time and had to rely on her worthless companions to note the landmark indicating the spot. We drove the narrow lane slowly, but saw nothing. YC then asked at one of the tourist sites we visited. The woman looked at YC as if the question had not been understood. After a few more pleadingly gentle (gently pleading?) verbal exchanges, the woman stopped and stared at us. One could almost see her making up her mind - This young one seems to know the place and the old ones seem harmless. Should she disclose the location to these strangers? With a sigh she pulled out a map, circled two landmarks, and then marked the spot.

Once again we drove down the narrow lane and stopped.

And we walked through the entrance into a place where, if there be faeries, surely they be.

 

The sea is on one side. A mountain on the other side. I will tell you no other guideposts or landmarks.

There once was an iron gate.

But it has been removed.

We follow into the woods.

The trail is damp and narrow.

At times I am not sure if the trail is bordered by moss covered stone walls or fallen trees.

Ferns grow everywhere.

As we walk down the trail a high rock wall is to our left, running with springs and covered with ivy, fern and other plants.

The springs wet the path making passage difficult - even in these days when no rain has fallen.

Young trees grow to replace the fallen.

The light is diffused by the leaves overhead.

It seems a long way and I fall behind my companions.

Mossy stones.

There is enough light for some flowers to bloom.

Water sings along this rock wall.

Someone has started to clear a tree limb on the left.

Fuchsia bloom red before the path darkens.

A tree has fallen and new growth has sprouted like a curtain. I was so surprised by this and ...

...this fern that I did not see the turn. I walked further down the path, but then heard the voices of my companions.

And we were there.

We explored and marveled in the beauty of the place. But then it was time to go.

The mushrooms bid a farewell.

The ferns waived us on.

The fuchsia bloomed before us.

And blackberry vines shared their fruit.

We followed our earlier footsteps up and out.

And we were left to wonder if it was all a dream.

September 17, 2014