I am winding down, and in my last week in the Co Galway village of Oughterard.
My time here has been deep–deeper than I perhaps even know.
I’ll be ready to leave and yet feel sorrow at leaving: the village and its many characters; the beautiful house where I’ve been staying; the towering, sheltering trees; Phinn the cat; the fresh, cool air; the cows, horses, donkeys and sheep…
BY R. S. THOMAS
Moments of great calm,
Kneeling before an altar
Of wood in a stone church
In summer, waiting for the God
To speak; the air a staircase
For silence; the sun’s light
Ringing me, as though I acted
A great rôle. And the audiences
Still; all that close throng
Of spirits waiting, as I,
For the message.
Prompt me, God;
But not yet. When I speak,
Though it be you who speak
Through me, something is lost.
The meaning is in the waiting.
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