Sometimes I watch British and Irish television for a breath of fresh air. Scenes of green fields with grazing sheep, like somewhere in Yorkshire, fill me with a yearning for bucolic living and a bit of an escape. Here’s a little poem just published by Macrame Literary Journal entitled Donegal. Read it below or here: http://macramelit.com
Here at home,
I bury my nose in the itchy cardigan
because it costs nothing to smell.
To smell green. How green?
As green as the Aer Lingus billboard,
from Hartford to Donegal, it says,
I see it on my way to work, on the highway,
calling me
from my green to that green,
to smell sheep,
to smell meadow
to smell peat. Is it peat, I smell?
I bury my nose in the wool,
who wouldn’t? Baa, baa,
somewhere a sheep with a brogue
calls me, baa baa,
It cost nothing to smell.
Gabriella Brand 
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