Hurry up, please; it's time

I remember standing on the Cliffs of Moher, looking out at the Aran islands. Was there a wind, or did the chill begin within me? So many dead fishermen. The water was deceptive. I thought of mothers keening and of warm sweaters turned to shrouds. They knew the bodies by the stitching. Men gave their lives to the sea and women gave their sons and their husbands and their hopes.

He stood laughing on the rocks, looking back towards me. The wind was as real as the spirit within him. I had so much to learn. The water reached toward him. I thought that I should reach like the water, eager for connection, alive with movement. I wanted to be known, even after. I wanted to give myself to him as he gave himself to the spirit as it moved over the waves and through his hair.

He stepped lightly off the rooks, looking out at the light. It sparkled suddenly on the water, bouncing as the waves bounced. So much light. I thought of spring mornings and of candles glowing on winter nights. It is hard to look at anything else, once a candle's flame catches your eye. I wanted to follow him across the water, bouncing like the light off the waves.

I remember standing on the rocks, knowing that thinking would not help me. The water that splashed over me was cold, cold as the fear washing over me. I would like to know him by his sweater, by the lines in the stitching. It is time to know him in myself, in my footsteps across the water. It is time to know myself in the bouncing of light across the waves. I breathe in the spirit around me, feel it on my skin and in my hair. My leg begins to move.

I watched him laughing on the water, far in front of me. I held his flame in my heart and noticed all its colours, felt it burning as I felt the cool of water underfoot.