Excerpt from Denys the Dreamer

Denys Fitzmaurice of Murrough sat on the edge of the bog looking away to where the river ran through purple and gold of heather and ragwort, widening white under the rays of light that shot down from behind an immense cloud. It was a scene very well worth looking upon. Far away the blue line of mountains showed dimly fair, with a promise of fine weather. There was a great sky stretching over the wide land, over-arching it, with a sense of immensity and light. At the boy's feet the gray-green of the rushes was relieved by the pale, aromatic blobs of meadow-sweet and the white of the bog-cotton that stirred in the faint, light breeze.

The bog was intersected by stretches of cultivated land. Across the Little Bog at Denys Fitzmaurice's feet he could see his father's cattle grazing the little fields, as well as other things that were not there. Au sorts of strange bird-songs and calls came to him, for the bog harboured every variety of bird. His sleepy gray eyes carried an immense distance. If it had not been for the haze of heat he might have seen, as he had sometimes seen, the eagle poised motionless against the great sky over Nephin.

His hand caressed the silken head of Rory, his red setter, who lay close to him on the sunny bank.

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