The Restory Retreat Centre

Statue of St Kevin and the blackbird at Knock I recently came across the beautiful Celtic story of St Kevin and the Blackbird. When St Kevin prayed in his hut with arms outstretched, the room was so small that he had to put one arm through the window. One day, while praying in this manner, a blackbird came, landed on his palm and started to build a nest. St Kevin did not want to disturb the new life that was taking shape in his hand and remained in that position until the little blackbirds were hatched, raised and ready to fly away. Christine Valters-Paintner reflected on the story in the following poem St. Kevin and the Blackbird (after Seamus Heaney) Imagine being like Kevin, your grasping fist softens, fingers uncurl and palms open, rest upward, and the blackbird weaves twigs and straw and bits of string in the begging bowl of your hand, you feel the delicate weight of speckled blue orbs descend, and her feathered warmth settling in for a w...

Photograph by David Chedgy My father worked with a horse-plough,  His shoulders globed like a full sail strung Between the shafts and the furrow. The horse strained at his clicking tongue. An expert. He would set the wing And fit the bright steel-pointed sock. The sod rolled over without breaking. At the headrig, with a single pluck Of reins, the sweating team turned round And back into the land. His eye Narrowed and angled at the ground, Mapping the furrow exactly. I stumbled in his hob-nailed wake, Fell sometimes on the polished sod; Sometimes he rode me on his back Dipping and rising to his plod. I wanted to grow up and plough, To close one eye, stiffen my arm. All I ever did was follow In his broad shadow round the farm. I was a nuisance, tripping, falling, Yapping always. But today It is my father who keeps stumbling Behind me, and will not go away.                            ...