I had disseminated some (almost) Irish stories (short stories) on this blog. From this blogpost you have the chance to read them.
They should have realized I was there simply by looking to the left side of the Bóithrín. Because the grass withered under my shadow. But they never see me. They don’t look, so they don’t see. The funny thing is that they see me where I’m not…
A few days ago I found out on Irish Medieval History Facebook Page that “Irish monks invented the space between words”. This is a short story about an unusual Viking, a young, smart Irish monk and that invention…
< Gráinne? >
Enda uí Rómhar had been waken up by something. Of course he thought it was his wife.
It happens to everybody that, barely awake, things in your head are a little bit fuzzy.
Sleep is a mysterious thing and awakening even more, perhaps.
But a few moments later Enda realized why it couldn’t have been her wife: she was dead. She had died the day before.
It’s named the Puffing Hole: the hole that snorts. It is one of the miracles of Àrainn’s west coast. The sea penetrated the rock for tens of yards and, perhaps finding a hollow area, led to a fall, creating a gap through which the sea rises inside the rock, up to the sky.