Boundary

Boundary
The seascapes that call me are all echoes.
Reminders that my ancestors came from a barren land
  stark, harsh - and beautiful.
Tall stones surrounded by raging dark waters,
the vastness of Lake Michigan and her many moods
  storm-tossed Michigan of my childhood years,
  the endless vastness of Galway's view on the Atlantic,
  isolated rocky islets off the Normadie coast,
  the open horizon of my grandparent's cottage on the Pacific.
Did their souls remember,
  Some small village in ancient An Clár or Gaillimh?
Our ancestors are there on the windswept slate-colored shore.

My soul cries back to Carnac, to the wild coasts of Brittany
  where reigned the Gauls, whose accents still are heard.
The tall stones pull at me, evoking memory - yet unseen.
The dark and restless coasts, fog shrouded and misty
  veils which part only for the lucky or unaware.
I am a child of Boundary - where land runs out into sea,
  where sea meets sky seamlessly,
  and the mists of time weave a spell around it all.

I am a Boundary child, Janus-like, a foot in either direction
  truly at home only in the fog-shrouded boundary lands.

Tricia (Chantal) Dean 5/7/3

Reflection inspired by the opening of "The Red-Headed Girl from the Bog: The Landscape of Celtic Myth and Spirit."