Malin Head by Virginia Hainsworth

I dreamed I went to Malin Head.  To the northernmost point of the beautiful island of Ireland.

I stared out over the remarkably blue ocean, which seemed to stare back at me.  It told me tales of its hidden treasures – ocean liners and German U-boats, sunk off this stretch of coast.  I could almost hear the cries of drowning men.

I looked towards Fanad Head lighthouse and was comforted by its pulsating light, shining out once more.

I watched the waves fighting each other before racing to the shore to prostrate themselves on the sand.  I walked along the clifftops and was drawn to the very edge of oblivion, the rocks daring me to jump.  Just once.

I dreamed of Banba, mythical queen of Ireland, using her magic to protect her land and her people.  I listened to her soft chanting, the drumbeat of the Bodhràn in time with her heartbeat, her voice like the Celtic harp, charming, soothing, beckoning.  Her image dwindled.  She left me bewitched.

I wondered if the arrival of the night sky would bring the Northern Lights with it, the Aurora Borealis sometime seen here.

I bathed in the solitude and let the wind cleanse my mind.

My dream faded, as all dreams do. But I will retrieve it.  I will go to Malin Head to bring it back.