Burren Fog--A Short Story

Kiltackymor House, Boston Road, The Burren

My Ireland

Between 1993 and 2017 Gere and I had the unique privilege of spending many,

many days in Ireland. The first few visits, we traveled as tourists, driving thousands of

miles around the island, taking in as much scenery, culture, and history as we could

absorb. Then in 2000, we were taken on as partners by a couple who owned a stone

cutting business in County Clare. Our office here in the USA was called Irish Limestone, US. Over there we were part of Irish Natural Stone, LTD or INStone and set up an “off-shore” office in a free-standing bungalow in Ireland’s stoney Burren south of Galway Bay. Business meetings twice each year, sourcing trips to limestone quarries and social networking brought us over to “our home-away-from-home” a few times each year.

During that time many hours were spent hiking boreens and famine roads to visit

ancient ecclesiastic ruins, hill forts and burial sites. On our last trip in 2017, we traveled up to The North as tourists once

again, completing our original goal of circling the entire island.

The scenery and people in The West and North of Ireland have left indelible

impressions on my mind and my heart. The memories do more than serve to remind me

of a very exciting period of my life when I felt as if I had two homes. They permeate my

writing life. You will find the Irish spirit in my work, if you look for it. It’s not hard to spot.

Burren Fog - A Short Story

You woke first and, when you got out of our giant King bed, I pulled the duvet up over my head. I knew that the sunlight would blind me as soon as you opened the floor to ceiling drapes.

“Wake up! Wake up this instant!” you shouted.

Why were you yelling? I knew we planned on getting up very early, but no need to be in a panic. It was the final day before the ride to Shannon Airport and the return to Boston, after nearly a month in our detached bungalow at the edge of the rocky Burren. We both had things to do. You wanted to bake some bread for Frank and Mary and make sure the house was clean enough to be presentable when we returned in September. I was way ahead of you. Most of my things were already packed and I wanted to hike to the Skahard Castle ruin down by the lough below Mullaghmore’s pancake limestone layers.

“Okay. Okay. It’s still early, isn’t it? Open the drapes. See if the sun is shining.”

“Can’t you see they’re already wide open. But there is nothing visible outside. You’ve

got to check this out. I can’t believe my eyes. Get up! You will not believe this. We are

enveloped in a cloud! The world has disappeared.”

With your left hand you yanked the covers off me, while pointing to the big picture

window with your right.

Rising from the edge of the bed, I put on my glasses and stood naked at the window,

peering into a fog bank so thick it blocked my field of vision abruptly at the glass. I

reached my robe out of the credenza and then walked down the long hall to open the

front door. A finger of amorphous grey cloud entered the house like smoke through the

opening. I took several careful steps into the pea soup then turned to look back. Walls of

the house had disappeared. Lights you turned on formed dim vaguely rectangular areas

of bright illumination where door and windows might be. When I reached back for the

door knob my fingers and forearm disappeared within the cloud.

The Burren Fog.

“Where are you?” you called. “I can’t see you.”

“I am right in front of the door.”

“How can you be? I’m standing at the door. Wave or something so that … Oh, wait!

There, I see your hand on the doorknob.”

In a split-second flash, golden sunlight burst over the valley’s eastern horizon. burning

away a one-foot-high space between the ground and bottom of the enveloping fog. I

could see my bare feet and the loose stone chippings of the driveway, but not my

knees. In another flash the sunlight exploded in a flaming orange. The entire world took

on a hot golden hue so bright I had to shield my eyes. Even with such brightness, the

fog remained thick enough that shapes of trees, fences and our car remained invisible

only a few feet away. The sun’s heat then broke the radiant fog bank into small bright

orange clouds just above our bungalow’s roof. These puffs soon soared in a freshening

breeze across fields to the lower grey limestone shoulders of Mullaghmore, finally

disappearing atop the holy mountain’s folded ledges.

We rushed together at the doorway and held tightly to each other as if we had been lost

and were reunited. Our hearts beat wildly, but we spoke no words over breakfast. We

sat staring at each other and looking out over the stony Burren plain outside the kitchen

window, in awe of what had just happened in this ancient place.