Source: First Things
February 14, 2023
Through the mouth of the cave I watched the storm front move in from the east. I could already hear the approaching thunder; the low bank of cloud was gray with it. I was perched on a low ledge inside the cave, which was just long enough to accommodate a human body laid prone. I had filled the place with candles, which guttered and danced in the wind that was rising now with the coming storm.
The storm broke in an instant, and then everything was roaring. Great nails of rain hammered down on the hazels, and the rumbles of thunder were replaced by an explosion right above me. The dimming evening sky was suddenly ripped from horizon to horizon by a great sheet of white lightning. More rain. More thunder. More electricity. It roared on and then, eventually, it roared past. Ten minutes later the rain had slowed, but the pause in hostilities was only temporary. I could see another front approaching over the mountains.
...In the sixth century, an Irish saint made his way down a trail, across the bare rocks of the Burren and through the hazel forest, toward the foot of a bare mountain. The Burren is a wide, wild area of limestone hills and plains in Ireland’s County Clare, dotted with ancient monuments, lost holy wells, caves, springs, and ruined churches.
... Read the rest at First Things.