Where Rooks Rest

A few years ago, Arklow was bypassed with a fine stretch of dual carriageway which has now been incorporated into the motorway which runs between Dublin and the Port town of Rosslare from where the motorist may take a ferry to South Wales or France. One of the interesting things about such road building is the way that small portions of what once were busy roads are now declassified and quite quickly degenerate as nature regains control over them.

One such piece of road lies just North of the town and is still accessible by car for a kilometre or so and on foot after that. Just at the point of access there stands in a field, this splendid and very old tree. Unfortunately it is now also a very dead tree. However, there it stands, as obstinate as an old man, who refuses to depart this world and growing wizened with the passing years just stands there nodding knowingly at the world.

There has been no sign of life in this old boy for at least ten years but he refuses to lie down and moulder into the soil. One day of course, with his strength all gone, he will succumb to a gale or a lightning strike and so will pass an old friend of mine. I sometimes, when feeling a bit down, drive out there just to see how he is doing and to have a few words with him. His persistence is a lesson in itself and I always come home refreshed, like I am now.

Must go now. I see the men in the white coats coming to get me. I don't like the look of their huge butterfly nets. Me mad? No, me not mad!