Trinity Church Path.

 Trinity Church Path 

At the corner of the road round Carne stands a remarkable church, unique in Ireland. Built in the early nineteenth century by Catholics and Protestants to allow worship at separate times. Beside the church lies a small cemetery and from the church files a lane that leads down to the sea.

The honeysuckle breaks above the weeds

Above the nettles and the brambles

On the lane that narrows with each year 

The winding path that leads us to the sea. 

Mombretia peering out unsure

Into a world that buzzes full of life

Brambles flowering with the promise

Of berries come September. 

This lane is overgrown and busy

With teeming life of plants and bees

With chirping birds who call unseen

From bushes and low trees

Bent in prayer with the western breeze

Obedient to the winter storms 

That rake the headland in the shortened days

Of winter over Carnsore Point. 

But thoughts of summer now prevail

In the midday heat of mid July

Pale blue midday skies embroidered

By wispy clouds that scurry East

The yellow fields fall peaceful 

A butterfly shows red and golden wings

A blackbird stands sentry on the pathway

That winds its way through yellow fields. 

A farmer drives a tractor in a far off field

Where man and nature meet and greet

And do their best to compromise

To celebrate a truce down the ages. 

We reach the beach unsure

What each tide will bring

The gift of smelling seaweed

Or a sandy virgin strand. 

Two tone rocks adorn the bay

Showing how far the high tide rises

Swallows circle in the sky

Coming or going? We are unsure. 

On the low horizon Clough East Castle

Flies a flag above its turrets 

Below the straw thatched Cottage nestles 

In the lee of trees beside a clearing. 

Sprinkled here and there just like confetti,

Farmhouses dot the countryside 

Ancient walls of honest toil

Beneath the ivy and the weeds. 

Praise to the unnamed plants and weeds

That mesmerize with blues and whites

Purple briefly dominates 

Against old gate posts guarding fields

Buckled gates like weary soldiers

Stand in silence to protect their lands

A shower cloud, soft with promise, 

Moves slowly pregnant across the sea. 

This ordered chaos of Wexford lanes

That wind and snake down to the sea

This is my private path, my own Versailles,

I need no Van Gogh to capture it. 

The dogs are panting in the heat so we retreat

Back to where we parked the car 

In the shadow of Trinity church and cemetery 

Built by two faiths in early symmetry. 

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