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Climbing the Reek – Anne Daly

We started at her shins. Below us, limestone toes sank joyfully into the sea-marsh at Murrisk. I was confident, a bright pilgrim stepping beside you over thighs blushing lilac with heather.

Mid-way, I started to flag. Steep ribs of schist sucked the wind from me. You pushed on, distracting me with jokes and an offertory of snacks.

At her shoulder, she turned abbess. You carried me over the loose stones of her hair (even when I cried) to the hymnal of her peak. A spire, stricken white against a fontanelle of blue. We kissed, on her tongue, like a psalm.