HOLLOW 14

A crisp Autumn day. The air was so fresh that it made you feel good just to breathe it in. Gossamer sparkled on spiders' webs in the thin morning light. The sky a pastel blue seemed somehow clean and healthy.

They were up before dawn for the walk. The forecast was for a fine day, and they set off at first light. Leaving footprints in the dew, they moved briskly.

Jonjo loved being out in the early morning, the whole day stretching out before him. He thought of that Irish greeting, 'Top of the morning to you' and the lesser-known response, 'And the rest of the day to yourself'. The best thing about retirement, 'the rest of the day to yourself'.

Sean was not a morning person. Getting up early always gave him discomfort somewhere between his chest and stomach. It reminded him of waiting in airports. His mind was awake, but his body longing for his comfortable bed. It was a lesser form of jet lag.

The sun was far enough from summer not to burn and not near enough to winter to have lost its heat. A leaf lazily spiralled down into the stream, and Sean pointed excitedly at a brown trout. The colour of the leaves making up for the loss of flowers. He began to appreciate the beauty of the morning.

Jonjo had felt some pangs of regret when he had cut down the big tree. It had been there before he was born and he had thought it would be there when he was gone. Unfortunately, its time was up, and he had to cut it before it fell and did some damage.

"You know, Sean, I think we could hollow out the trunk and make a boat," Jonjo said.

"Maybe we could just buy one," suggested Sean.

"Where's the fun in that?" replied Jonjo.

"You know the Native Americans used to light a log on fire and scrape out the ashes to make their boats."

"Smart fellows and generous too. The Choctaw tribe sent money to Ireland in the time of the famine even though they had very little themselves. They saved a lot of lives," added Jonjo.

"That is astounding," confirmed Sean. "But why do you want a boat?"

"Not me, us. I know our main aim is to find the Vale of Mist, but I also know that you have become as interested as me in the myths and legends of our country.

"My parents never talked about it much, said Sean. "Just the odd ghost story and tales of leprechauns."

"Mine too, just banshees and the fairy folk were all I knew about."

"Yes, but why the boat?" persevered Sean.

"Well, I thought we could have a three-pronged attack on discovering our culture. First, we have our walks searching for the Vale second, we investigate the tunnels and third, we do a bit of sailing or rowing at least.

"How will we get the boat to the water," inquired Sean.

"Where there's a will there's a relative," laughed Jonjo.

The two friends had high hopes of finding the Vale of Mist, the legendary place that when encountered, guaranteed a year of healthy life. They could already see patches of mist rolling up the fields ahead of them. The tops of the mountains were covered too technically that would be fog, but close enough.

Their early start and brisker pace were needed because they had a long tough day ahead of them and the amount of daylight was diminishing. Sean had come back to Ireland to fade away, his life almost over. Now he was fitter than he had been in years. He had been giving away some of his fortune. He was putting others before himself, it made him feel good, and he didn't broadcast his charitable work. The example of his cousin and the beauty of his homeland had worked their magic on him.