Читать книгу Mearing Stones: Leaves from My Note-Book on Tramp in Donegal - Campbell Joseph, Joseph Campbell - Страница 22

I could sit for hours listening to the “bubbling” of the strand-bird; but that’s because I am melancholy. If I weren’t melancholy I’d hardly like it, I think. The tide’s at ebb and the bollans and rock-pools are full of water. Beyond is space – the yellow of the sand and the grey of the sky – and the pipe-note “bubbling” between. A strange, yearning sound, like nothing one hears in towns; bringing one into touch with the Infinite, and deep with the melancholy that is Ireland’s.. and mine.