"Inside the house of the red gate, there is faithfulness and love, where we are keeping watch, maintaining light..." For Sunday Miscellany on RTÉ Radio 1, listen to The Red Gate by John F Deane above...
Mornings, when I swing open the red gate – admitting the world again with its creeds and wars – the hinges sing their three sharp notes of protest; I hear the poplars in their murmurings and sifflings while the labouring high caravans of the rain pass slowly by; it will seem as if the old certainties of the moon and stars, mingled with the turnings and returnings of dreams, mist to unreality, although there rise about me matins and lauds of the meadow-sweet and rowan. The early morning news has again outlined the deadly injustices of a war that we thought could never happen and, for a moment, I murmur my oft-repeated pleas to the deity. The first truck goes ruttling down the wet road and the raw arguments, the self-betrayed economies of governments assault me so I will take care not to miss the clear-souled drops on the topmost bar of the gate that would whisper peace to our world.
Noon, and the valley lies quiet today in the profound green of late summer fullness. Scarcely a breath on the air. Little expectancy. But the spirit holds. There is much trouble in the world but, as yet, no diminution of hope. The spring acclamations of birdsong have been falling silent. Quick mid-summer thunderstorms have gone by. I let the red gate swing open to the demands of noon....
Listen to more from Sunday Miscellany here.
