Sunday 30 September 2012

If Music Be the Messenger.

Tonight is the night of the full moon nearest the autumnal equinox. That makes it the harvest moon, and takes my mind back to the writing of When the Waves Call. It was the last short story I wrote with serious intent, and is probably my favourite.

It owes its genesis entirely to Maire Breatnach’s album Angels’ Candles, which set my mind flying off to a traditional bar on the storm ravaged coast of Connemara at the time of the harvest moon. I lived the music as I lived the story, and when the last full stop was in place, the tape broke. I’ve never heard a track from that album since. There are none on YouTube and the CD is expensive.

I don’t think I want to, either. The messenger came, delivered the message, and then left. Why call her back to hear it again? The flow goes on.

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