Amber, Green, Red

After helping put the wean to bed I headed for the Strokestown Poetry Festival in County Roscommon, about a two-hour drive from Dublin. I had been invited to read there as one of the poets shortlisted for their yearly competition.

The evening was beautiful. On the way to the M50, passing through Sandyford Industrial Estate, I pulled in when I noticed a bloated, almost tropical sun sinking, red as a stoplight. It reminded me of the clear, primary skies I saw in San Francisco every evening, regular as traffic lights.