I came across Brendan Farren’s beautiful willow-sculpted curlews recently and was reminded why I called my blog thecurlewscall.
Brendan Farren, Greencastle, Co Donegal, willow sculpted curlews.
In Leitrim, your call was part of my childhood summers. When I wandered Boggaun’s high rough fields, up behind the farmhouse, where they merged into hazel woods. Looking up over Larkfield to the top of The Rock, down again in search of badger and fox trails, as you cur—lewed around me. Your call was part of the music of those magical summers.
At home in the Antrim hills, I heard you call across the mountain slopes coming off the flat top of Tievebulliagh, tramping through a stream. Camped nearby on a grassy bank, you cur—lewed us to sleep in mid-summer’s half-light, calming our teenage chatter. And later, a little to the south, on the slopes of Slemish, where the air cleared beyond the awfulness of that time, you called again, haunting and lonely.
In Inishowen, I catch a glimpse of your elegant beak, hear your occasional call by the estuary of the Crana River. Hoping that you survive and with your offspring flourish to fill the coasts and mountains again with your curlew’s call.
The Curlew's Call 