OPINION (AN COLÚN): A magnificent sunset while birdwatching on the Little Brosna Callows

IN WINTER we have many sights and sounds which are evocative, memory-laden and nostalgic. There is the lovely smell of peat smoke in the air, the murmurations of starlings meandering, binding together, dispersing in the winter sky. There is sitting by the open fire on a cold evening, with frigid rain being blown against the window panes by the strong wind; sitting by the open fire with your pets sleeping on the carpeted floor, the pets exuding contentment and peace.
The pastime of birdwatching is good in Offaly and North Tipperary during the winter months, and can be enjoyed in several places including Boora, Turraun and the Little Brosna Callows. Last week Rosalind and I were birdwatching on the Little Brosna Callows. For a couple of hours the weather was grey, overcast, drizzling; but then in the late afternoon the clouds parted and we were treated to one of the most magnificent sunsets I have seen in a long time. The sky turned to orange, golden, yellow. The light became deeply spiritual, bathing the flooded landscape of the Callows in a benign, profoundly peaceful light. We gazed long and pensively at the sunset. To me this wasn't just attractive colours in a pleasant landscape; it was also God's way of communicating with us, telling us that a wonderful rightness and peace lies under all things. I could also sense God's wonderful love flowing through the scene.
The Russian poet Anna Akhmatova beautifully described the different feelings which a sunset can evoke:
“And the sunset itself on such waves of ether
That I just can't comprehend
Whether it is the end of the day, the end of the world,
Or the mystery of mysteries in me again.”
She too, like us, sensed the otherworldly as she looked, describing it as “the mystery of mysteries.”
As I gazed, my mind was filled with memories from my life. I recalled the friends of my youth, from the 1970s and 1980s. Some have passed on to the next world. Most I have not seen for many years; but they still hold a special place in my heart. We laughed together, played together, dreamed together. They were a vital part of the tapestry of my childhood and teenage years. I gazed at the sunset, felt the presence of God's love and remembered with heartfelt recollection the friends of my youth.
As we stood there our sense of smell detected peat smoke, with its evocation of warmth and security against our tough and difficult winters; with its symbolic representation of the hearth, of the homestead, where there is warmth, good food and families gathering together. The writer Janet Heeran describes it brilliantly: “The smell of burning turf is the scent of our past. This smell is strong and contains hints of glacial lake droplets, hazel scrub, gold and bronze fragments, elk bone pieces, the sweetness of bog butter...”
The birdhide at Ashton's Callow on the Little Brosna Callows is what I call a transparent space. When you are seated in it you feel closer to the next world. As we sat there, earlier in the afternoon, a solitary mute swan floated elegantly and mournfully on the vast expanse of water. Flocks of birds regularly flew across the sky. There was a constant chattering of over-wintering birds permeating everything, imbuing our hearts with calm and repose. To our right were about thirty dabbling and resting wigeons, with a handful of lapwings in their midst.
Over 9,000 wigeon have been recorded on the Little Brosna Callows during any given winter, a figure which makes the Callows nationally important for this species of dabbling duck. Most of these wigeon breed in Iceland. Their numbers in the Callows vary with the level of flooding, but usually peak in January.
The wigeon's scientific name is 'Anas Penelope'. It is rooted in classical mythology. 'Anas' means 'duck' in Latin. Penelope was the wife of Odysseus. Her parents were Prince Icarius of Sparta and the nymph Periboea. When Periboea gave birth to a baby girl, Penelope, Icarius was disgusted because he had wanted a son. He therefore threw the baby girl into the sea. However, she was rescued by a family of ducks. When Icarius witnessed this phenomenon he saw it as an omen and he relented. He named the girl Penelope (after the ancient Greek word 'Penelops', which means 'duck') and he raised her with the affection and love proper to parenthood. The adult Penelope became a symbol of the virtues of faithfulness and patience.
We sat in the birdhide for a long time, immersed in the contemplative quality of this place, an atmosphere that is a great antidote for the noise, nastiness and heartliness of life.

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