Important Place [ response to poetry prompt shared by Gerry]

Carrowniskey.
It has to be Carrowniskey.
A rainy night of pitter pattered windows,
Followed by a sun-struggling morning,
Hazy and warm,
Promises an edible gift of nature,
Worth the walk back to the sea,
Back to the ocean edge,
The rumbling, roaring, tumbling, thundering Atlantic.

Sea salt spray sticking wind-flapped hair,
Stooping to pluck smooth topped mushrooms from the Shruffer's coarse, prickling grass,
Creamy toffee drops sprouting among the rich green expanse.
Fill the bucket and walk the road back again,
Back the road, majestic Mweelra like a cardboard cut-out,
Mauve grey, ridges grooved,
Linking earth to sky.

Back to the range heated kitchen
Where the ancient, buckle-bottomed, black frying pan
Heats, sizzles, spits melting butter
And fry them up,
Rich, dark juice oozing from velvet brown pleated flesh.
Straight to the plate,
With a slice of fresh-made brown cake,
Golden butter melting, dissolving into its warmth.
A pinch of crispy salt.
A china cup of cold milk fresh from the whirring, purring cooler in the cowshed.

Field to fork before it was claimed by advertising.