Wanderers
Or the island hills
They’re not my land’s hills
And, fair as these green foreign hills may be
They are not the hills of home”
The deepest of greens can stir our hearts and though we may not possess the Blarney of our cousins across the Irish Sea, we seek to express ourselves and share the feelings that the sight of rich green hills can evoke….We are all island people, driven from the hills and destined to wander the seas and the skies, unwittingly (sometimes wittingly) searching for something lost centuries ago…all the time wearing the earthen toned fabrics of our heritage proudly and dreaming the dreams of lost poets, warriors, and mystics. When all other words escape us, we feel the thrum of “loss” creeping up our throats and into our silent songs. Old worlds cannot be restored, but the warmth of the embrace of a kindred spirit can do wonders for the soul…May we embrace all those who long for home, providing them shelter and protection from their oppressors and all those who would drive them to the sea.
The Aerial Horizon 