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Fionn walked alone
through the early morning mist, his feet sinking into the soft mud of the bog.
The land lush and mossy green. Heather bloomed like a wild, crimson-haired
maiden traipsing through a meadow. The purple moor grass and other rare plants
had been going through the cycle of growth, death and life on Ce`ide hill for
almost five thousand years. Fionn loved these fields. They were the perfect
embodiment of Ireland ;
her mystery, greatness and beauty. The Ce`ide fields were buried for almost
fifty centuries, and each patch of grass his foot touched down on released
whispers from the past, like the stones that had been hidden under the silent
earth.
Since I cannot describe this lovely story better, I'll let Ms. Bree T. Donovan do it herself:
Tra`, short
for Tra`lee was a very special person that I had the honor to know and love for
seven short, wonderful years. The best years of my life. Tra` not only dreamed
of an ultimate peace for his country, Ireland
T is for...The Traveler
Fionn walked alone
through the early morning mist, his feet sinking into the soft mud of the bog.
The land lush and mossy green. Heather bloomed like a wild, crimson-haired
maiden traipsing through a meadow. The purple moor grass and other rare plants
had been going through the cycle of growth, death and life on Ce`ide hill for
almost five thousand years. Fionn loved these fields. They were the perfect
embodiment of
His
tweed coat opened slightly while the breeze swirled the specter-like fog. The
scarf around his neck provided the extra warmth he needed on this cold, gray
Irish morning. There was no one else to offer companionship or distraction. His
heart ached with the familiar pain of yearning to be with his lady, and the
stark knowledge of what his journey back to her would involve. He had so often
walked this familiar path in contemplation and preparation for his next
assignment. He was never afraid. He simply wanted to summon up the reserves he
would need to play a part that was so foreign to his true nature.
Once,
when in Belfast, he had witnessed a terrorist gun down a man while walking with
his sons to market, leaving the horrified children alone on the sidewalk with
their dying father. Fionn carried the mental picture of the two boys’ petrified
faces, and the sound of their lamenting sobs. From that moment, Fionn decided
his own life was expendable if it meant that he could save even one child from
suffering such an experience. Fionn wasn’t aware that his fury shone with a
disturbing brightness in his eyes- the emerald sparks they emitted served only
to make him more convincing to his enemies. They thought he shared their same
fire and rage. They thought he was a true believer in the cause.
Fionn
stopped walking to look out across the beautiful landscape that was his home.
He had traveled to many places in his short lifetime, but Ireland was always in his heart.
Like a mother beckoning to her child, Erin
always called him back. Filling his lungs with the sweet morning air, the scent
of burning turf and fires being stoked in the hearths of nearby cottages
entered his body like the warmth of a lover. In that instant Derry ’s
face flashed before him. The young, American girl with the voluminous red hair,
and sad, dark eyes. Fionn could see her as if she was walking towards him, but
it was only the whirling vapors coming up from the bogs.
It
was not an easy love for Fionn, paradoxically, all the things that pulled him
to her, were all the things that should push him away.
****
Bree Donovan has worked as an educator, in the social
service field and in animal and environmental protection. Once having dreams of
being a musician and/or actress, Bree spent a good portion of her life living
and working in  |
| Buy it HERE! |
Donovan’s first attempt at book publication was a most
rewarding experience. In 2008, Bree wrote and published a YA book about the
late, great Olympian and runner, Steve Prefontaine. The Pre book exposed Bree
to people, places and ideas that fueled her desire to become a serious writer.
Bree hopes her writing will reflect the struggles, and joys of not only her own
life, but all those she has encountered who have impressed and inspired
her. The country of Ireland holds an
almost sacred import to Donovan who considers herself very published by IFWG.
Visit Bree’s Blog: http://1mermaidmusings.blogspot.com/
Authors Page: http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/breetdonovan
