The atlantic sky opens in flame at the end of the day igniting the tips of the red and purple heather, giving the mountains their bloody name.

The atlantic sea rocks its hues back and forth as the moon gathers its guts up to the gloaming light.

The froth and foam gently sing a lullaby to silky selkies out there by them barren sandy rocks.

The Dúlamán Na Binne Buí ring their yellow bells to signal that the full mooned night is coming.

I wonder how it was that I got here to bear witness to this miracle.