Pure Fog

This morning the fog was thick, the sea was a distant sound, muffled. My minds eye placed the familiar landmarks in their positions as I arrived into the city. My walk around the city walls was like the images we see of angelic figures wandering around in Heven, all blured images, shadows of people and places we think we know. Then... a sound, a seagul expressing his displeasure at some henious crime perpetrated upon him brought me back to Ireland, Kilkee to be precise, and my first girlfriend, for whom my total admiration was seamless. She too had finished her 'Leaving Cert' (final exams before University and the rest of one's life). We were on the rocks called the Pollock holes and we kissed. Afterwards, I wrote a poem, the only line of which I still remember is; "such a pure thing to kiss in the whiteness of the fog with its endless invisiability inviting you and I too live forever".

Then I was seventeen, now a little older but still a hopeless romantic, some might even say just hopeless .