byre's

“Blackberry Picking” by Seamus Heaney

Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer’s blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
We trekked and picked until the cans were full
Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard’s.
We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn’t fair
That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they’d keep, knew they would not. 

BLACKBERRY-PICKING

Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer’s blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
We trekked and picked until the cans were full,
Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard’s.

We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn’t fair
That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they’d keep, knew they would not.

—  Seamus Heaney
Thoughts on Leaving Workaway #4

You know, I was going to use this workaway as an opportunity to figure out my life after traveling. So I patiently used my free time to think and plan…Ahahaha who am I kidding? Yeah right! I thought I would have a lot of alone time, but I had friends instead.

You know what must be the coolest thing about doing workaways? Meeting new people and becoming friends with those new people. Not the ‘we met at a hostel and hung out one night’ kind of travel friends. The 'we worked together, cooked together, lived together, and climbed the crag in Edinburgh twice’ kind of friends. My free time was spent hanging out and playing pokemon with a really cool viking whose constant jokes and dirty humor made this workaway one of my favorites. It’s been awesome, Malte! I will be sure to visit you in Denmark one day, but I’m afraid I would die if I went to a party there. You crazy =P

I also wanted to say a few rude things about Tim…so I’ll say this: he is one of the best bosses I have ever had. He actually trusted us and left us to work independently without breathing over our shoulders. He even asked us for our opinions on things. I learned so much from him in these three weeks. And he does actually have a soft side despite what he says =P I would love to come back and work with him again.

Making connections all over the world is incredible and I am so grateful for having been able to do these workaways with such great hosts who made feel like part of the family. Who knew that I could feel at home in Scotland? Or France? Or Italy? Now I feel like I have a home away from home all over Europe…familiar places that hold a special place in my heart. And now that I am on my way back to one of them I know I will always remember and love and miss all of them long after I return to the states.

Good-bye Scotland! Until next time =)

saarebitch asked:

Commendaces for Maiwe (I am evil)

A single plume of smoke rose from the incense, curling in the dim light and stretching upward. It tickled her nose but Maiwe could not cough; not here and not now, when she conducted funeral rites for those who would never see it. So many dead without names, bodies picked over by looters and carrion crows alike. There was no time to identify each corpse, no time to draw their likenesses and take it from village to village, asking the distraught if they had known that face when it still moved. The day was warm, and already it started to stink, bloat setting in quickly. Worse yet, there were Rifts in the area that Maiwe had not reached yet. Their proximity tugged at her, calling her over… But first to burn the bodies, so that they would not rise again.

A single torch to the byre, dropped from her hand and lighting on strips of cloth soaked in oil. The heat was immediate and intense, pushing her back a step or two before her spine straightened. This was her duty as Inquisitor. These men had died for her, some of them still calling her name in triumph. She would watch as their spirits returned to where they would, if they returned at all. Heavenward or toward the earth? Or were they simply sacks of meat, gone and not remembered? She could not bring herself to cry, though weeping seemed appropriate. Her eyes stung with how dry they were.

“They died with fear and pride caught in their throats. Inquisitor, they say. Inquisitor, we will win. And then the fear when the swords stick from their bellies. I was not there to ease it.” Cole appeared at her shoulder, his hat casting them both in shade. As always, Maiwe shivered at his approach. He unsettled her, from his first appearance to his continued existence with one foot in the spirit realm and one in the human. He knew too much; she was sure that he knew of her illness, and was terrified of the day he would tell someone else, letting it fall in an innocent babble. For now he said nothing, but she still watched him, forever wary.

“And what am I supposed to do?” She should have treated Cole gently, with soothing words. Instead, her tone was angry. One fist clenched, struggling to conceal the lash of green light that came at strong emotions.

“They’re gone. Neither of us was there.” Cole’s sadness soaked into her bones. She turned her back on the smoking pyre, looking out over the burnt landscape and half-destroyed homes that characterized so much of the Exalted Plains. Cole still stood behind her, until she stepped away completely, still feeling how he looked at her. Pity. He pitied her, and that, more than anything, made her seethe inside. The prayers died on her lips as she left the bodies behind, eyes still dry.

‘Who is the madder,’ Osman the clown whispered into his bullock’s ear as he groomed it in its small byre, 'the madwoman or the fool who loves the madwoman?’ The bullock didn’t reply. 'Maybe we should have stayed untouchable,’ Osman continued. 'A compulsory ocean sounds worse than a forbidden well.’ And the bullock nodded, twice for yes, boom, boom.
—  Salman Rushdie - - The Satanic Verses

anonymous asked:

Without any barriers to consider, where would you want to live, if Glasgow wasn't an option?

The west end by far, byres road bring the best

Blackberry Picking by Seamus Heaney

Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer’s blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
We trekked and picked until the cans were full,
Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard’s.

We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn’t fair
That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they’d keep, knew they would not.

Awesome Holiday Options at Isle respecting Mull

The Isle concerning Chafe is the Archipelagic in the Scotland and nearer to the Island of Iona. It attracts the whole collateral relative and best for the holiday packages for who interested in the wildlife. There are lots of attracting on the Archipelagian that makes you adventurous and happy. Gas-heat is known as for its cattle, cottages, self catering, hotels and restaurants. Apart from this there are lots of other stay options in the Isle of Dally. Here are the some good and immense places.

Duart Castle: - Duart Castle over against the Mull is known as the home on the Clan Maclean. Alter ego is tame on one the superlative unique positions on the orient coast of the Scotand. It takes 10 to 15 mins to get to the castle from diner parking. There is a heavy amount in point of breadth as a dinghy container for the visitors and blockhouse just in hellfire the castle has been transformed into a confer shop and a lovely psychotomimetic shelter. This safehold stands prominently on a cliff and has been the base of the clan Maclean since the 14th century.

Glengorm Coffee Shop: - It is coffee shop now in any event before it is a castle pertinent to Tobermory. It is about 4 miles away from the center in regard to the Tobermory. There are lots in relation with forestry way along the road. If my humble self are a guest speaking of the Glengorm citadel then it cannot proclaim a castle, subconscious self is a coffee betray. The coffee shop has a huge range of home prosperous bread and beverages. The nature of the bunker is fabulous and seeing the briny on the top of this keep is amazing.

The white Byre Hereditability Soul: - It is identical nearer to the Dervaig a uptown at the north border line of mull. The advanced Byre is a heritage middle in the beautiful Bottom Bellart closed to the Dervaig village. It attracts the consanguinean who are interested intake Mull history. The museum has lots of information and secrets touching Examine history. There is a tea room, garden for children and tea room.

Tobermory Fluviatile Visitor Centre: - The else dexterousness the Marine Visitor Centre on the airport is now open for all. This centerabsorbsmanifold items of interest and interaction speaking of the activities in all around Tobermory bay. There is a small scene by use of seating for 20 people, showing wildlife movies and the aquarium is up and 2 pm is feeding time so crabs.

Isle of Ulva: - Situated on the west coast of the Glaze and go there in favor in every respect five minutes of the dray ruffle. The car is not professed there. It is known seeing that its woodland walks, praiseworthy boathouse caf© and its history.

These five destinations on the Islandology of Mull are the best option insomuch as second holiday preference. These destinations attract more tourists by its own interesting legend and nature. If it want to spend your holiday up the Isle of Mull then do not forget versus visit these historical places.