There was something magical in the air. The mingled scent of sea salt, of fresh rain, and of freshly fell vegetation. The local songbirds twittered in a crescendo of mourning for their home, as autumn beguiled the woods into early retirement.
Kenny Rogers had not been to the old family home in northern County Down for almost ten years. Yet, now returned, he felt a sudden onrush of familiarity and poignant nostalgia. He recalled many summers spent in this beautiful country, exploring the gentle slopes, wood, and thicket, from as far as the old Torr Road down to the rocky cliffs and pebbled seaside. Continue reading “Kenny of Cruithin (short story excerpt)”