August in Castile

Stand, stand statue-still, watch the clouds race from the south,

Collide, collapse and spill their cargo onto Portugal.

The hills and mountains where you hunted standing stones and passage tombs are Burren-black.

The clouds are whale-like, blue and granite, and slip by lowly overhead,

So that a flown kite could tickle their bellies.

The warm wind bears moisture for a change,

And in the beads of water hide essences of a parched Castilian countryside.

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About ucronin

Microbiologist, brewer, writer, fan of James Joyce, guitar player and gardener, U. Cronin was born in the county town of Ennis, Co. Clare. He's spent much of his adult years moving country — between Spain and Ireland — and at present he is to be found back in his native town. Author of five novels and working on a sixth, U. is back in the lab and engaging his passion for looking for bugs using very bright lasers. Let's hope it turns out well!
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