Solas ag Éirí Gearr

Introduction for Solas ag Éirí Gearr

Solas ag Éirí Gearr begins at that point in the year when the light changes before we quite notice the season has turned. The days begin to draw in; the first chill touches the skin; evening arrives a little earlier, and the warmth of the day becomes something we instinctively want to hold.

The poem moves through that thin space between glow and gloaming — between what remains and what is quietly coming.

Within it are a few Irish words that carry their own place and feeling:

Solas ag Éirí Gearr — Light Becoming Short — the turning of the season as the days begin to draw in.

Ní fada — not long, not far — that fragile space between light and dusk.

Fuar — cold — that first faint chill on the skin, the breath of change.

Bóithrín — a little country road, an old path that seems to know the seasons before we do.

An oíche — the night — approaching gently, never something to fear; simply the quiet turn.

The poem is about noticing what remains while the light is still with us — and gathering it while we may.

Solas ag Éirí Gearr

The light has turned thin as old linen,

honeyed gold, but with a silver edge —

it does not linger, does not dally,

sips the fields, then slips away.

You can taste the change in the air:

fuar — faint, first breath of what’s to come,

brushing cheek and hand and brow —

a kiss — and the year turns now.

Shadows lengthen like slow secrets;

the bóithrín wears a softer gold —

it knows the sun climbs lower, briefer,

each day a little gentler, a little more old.

Evening knocks before we’re ready —

birds fold wings while there’s still glow;

the light gives all it has, then yields,

leaving warmth where we go.

Stone walls hold the last heat sparingly;

hedgerows burn with berry and leaf —

a gate stands open, then is gone —

swallowed soft by coming dark.

Ní fada now between the glow and gloaming,

short the span where day still clings;

we walk slower, breathe more deeply,

gather light like precious things.

Not dark yet — but the shift is clear:

less of day, more of listening;

an oíche leans in — quiet, near —

and the world breathes deeper, slower, still.

Kings Quote:

The land knows the season before we begin looking around us.

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