an excerpt from Mointeach - a Novel I sporadically work on from time to time
It had begun to snow again. Dreamily I watched the flakes, silver and
dark, blowing obliquely against the lonely crossroads streetlight. The time had come for me to set out on my
journey westward. Yes, the newscasts
were right: snow was general all over the island. It was falling on every part of the dark
central lake of the Bras D’Orr, on the forested hills, falling softly upon the
Burnt Barrens and, farther eastward softly falling into the dark mutinous
Atlantic waves. It was falling, too,
upon every part of the lonely graveyard on the hill above the river where
Stephen’s clay lay buried. It lay
thickly drifted over the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the
little gate, on the barren thorns, smoothly blanketing the newly mounded
grave. My soul swooned slowly as I heard
the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent
of their last end, upon all the living and the dead – dimly falling into that
good night.
and apologies for briefly modifying that good bard Joyce in this one paragraph
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