A Sense of Time: Down the Lines of Blood and Bone
Grey sky stretches overhead, and a light drizzle as I board the early morning ferry for a day trip expedition to Rathlin Island. I am greeted by a seated man with little eyes lost in grooves on leathery skin, who waves my hand away when I pull my wallet. “Ach no, pet, you’re grand, you’ll get your wee ticket on the way, so you will,” he smiles and, eying me, mysteriously adds, “stay at the back of the boat.” I, fidgeting with my wallet, feeling very much the clueless foreigner, don’t understand his advice, but catch a mischievous glint that fleetingly lights up his little eyes. Meekly, I pick a plastic seat near the doorway of the cabin. As we round the corner of the safe harbour, I quickly learn the meaning of his words. Within moments, our unsuspecting little boat is delivered to the mercy of enormous waves on a fuming Sea of Moyle. Walls of water, in ominous shades of grey and green and blue, tower and swell above, around and below us, ramming our defenseless vessel on t...