The long ripened grass rippled in waves for miles along the undulating countryside. Above him a canopy of foliage swayed and rustled in the hillside breeze. The forest cocooned him from the harsher voice of the wind as it sheltered the delicate flora and fauna that surrounded him. To his left little bluebells sporadically shivered as if rung by an unseen hand. He could hear the caw of the crow from the low-lying trees that surrounded the lough but around him the warble of the thrush and the searching cry of the crake. It was mid-afternoon and the sun warmed the land from a virtually cloudless sky.

As he watched the rowing boat drift silently on the shimmering water to the east of the ancient churches, now derelict and open to the sky, he thought of his place in time. He surveyed an area unchanged in centuries. His vision scanned a landscape seasonally renewed yet fundamentally the same since creation. He imagined the settlers of old encamped along the foreshore. They would have hunted these forests and harnessed its resources.

Here and there the land bore testimony to the passing ages. He had by-passed a stone-age dolmen on his ascent and skirted the mound of a ring-fort. He thought of the waves of migration instigated by increasingly modern armies. The slow technological advancement driven by trade and conflict. Now, here he was. The past long forgotten. 'I shall make everything new'.

He lay on his back and felt the light breeze dance around him. He could only half remember. Another piece of biblical prose about a mighty thunderstorm and the constancy of God in the breeze. Now at least he understood. Life had a dynamic of its own. There was tumult and war, deprivation and atrophy. Yet continually advancement was eventually made and the desire for justice would spring anew. Time was the instrument of the creator. 'Have I not plucked you from the fire?' Progress was as inevitable as time was unrelenting.

Paradoxically the same issues remained. The cycle continued. The struggle for survival, security and contentment. The need to harmonise with nature. To find purpose. When there was nothing left of his life he had been forced to look within. He knew about the unfathomable darkness. Turmoil beyond his imaginings. He had to reconstruct. But with what material? For what purpose?

He had sought out the silent stirrings within. A deeper murmur from the well of his being. His mind had sought to connect with the same quiet constancy. Why ? What had caused his need ?

He turned to lie on his front. To focus.

He had lost his emotional basis. His world had been pulled from under him. What had time changed ? Had it really meant so much ? His perspective had altered. Time had afforded him a more objective view. What had he found within himself only life. A life that needed expression. A means to self discovery. He thought of Donna and what they had lost. Fifteen years of separation. They had changed and evolved in different ways. They had grown apart. Was anything meant to be ? 'Love', what does it mean anyway ? Do we love the idea more? Or is it our fragility ? Our need for affirmation ?

On examination he could see that need was at the centre of being human. The need for food and shelter. The necessity of organisation and co-operation to acquire and facilitate these things. It was our frailty that demanded social cohesion. Our weakness that spurred us toward achievement. Here we are. Our miniscule lives on the precipice of imminent extinction. The state of dependency - our first and last. Dependant on others. It is through others that we become whole.

His eye was caught by a stirring in the undergrowth about twenty yards from where he lay. A grey coated rabbit hopped into view. Its eyes swollen and diseased with mixamatosis. Curtailment and control. Freedom too had its limitations. He rolled over and sat up, resting his arms on his bended knees. What to make of it ? This sliver of consciousness between oblivion. This vale of futility in the shadow of death. The ideal was not attainable. Suffering was inevitable. Inherent injustice in so many things. Was there anything of lasting importance ? Again he remembered the old priest, ' The kingdom of heaven is within you,' he said. Well it was a kingdom in waiting.

He stood up and began his descent through the wild grass. A small bird flitted from the undergrowth as the wind gusted to greet him. Already the days were marginally shortening. Soon the fresh calm of autumn would descend upon the land. The song of summer muted. He thought of the vast universal clock. The ebb and flow in all things.

As he cleared the western parameter of the forest the sun revealed itself in its evening glory. Imperceptibly descending towards the mountain summit, it cast the land in an array of shadows. It appeared as if all that stood erect upon the ground had been lifted from the earth, leaving a series of dark holes in their wake and he was better able to assess the distance to the foothills of the mountain.

As he studied the sweep of the land he was awestruck by its splendour. He felt as if he had opened his eyes to it all for the first time. His own past was a myth. He was the sum of his knowledge and understanding. The experiences he went through to reach this state of being were swept away in the river of time. Gone and forgotten.

A cooler breeze hurried at him now. A reminder he could stay no longer. He tugged a woolen jersey from his pack and pulled it on. He slung the pack over his shoulder and, at a brisk pace descended the hill.

^