I decided I have to put roots down, it’s bee ten years of travelling, ten years of fluttering from one side of the world to the other. It isn’t exactly a decision as a necessity. My frazzled roots need long yearned for nourishment.
And where did I land, but beside a pure and mysterious lake. There is no river that enters this tranquil lake, no stream that leaves her shores. She is a self-contained mystery. Filling her volume in a secretive manner with the freshest water.
The lake is a stone’s throw from my door. At least it was when I moved in. However, due to an unexpected heat wave (three glorious weeks of temperatures soaring over 20 degrees without a single trickle of rain) the lake curled back her liquid tentacles into the belly of her being. Retreated all her precious lake droplets into the centre, far from her shore line.
Farmer Sean, who has my cottage surrounded by his fields, told me the last time the lake shrank was in 1976, 50 years ago. I ponder, if Lough Bunny is capable of under-filling, perhaps she will also capable of over-filling. Maybe one day, instead of seeing her form retreated and diminished, I will wake to find she has trickled her way over the road that cuts between us, through my gate and past my front door. I would love to welcome her in, but I would have to move my furniture upstairs.
No, this has never happened, Sean reassures me. Not in his lifetime at least.
The lake is called Lough Bunny. One might at first think she is named after the furry friends that hop through Sean’s lush green fields, but no, it is not. Her true name is Loch Buinne. Lough Bunny is the anglicised name. Buinne an Irish word translates to flood, gush, torrent or stream. But there is no stream coming from this lake. Loch translates to lake or inlet.
Buinne (let’s stick to the original name) is a karst limestone lake. Loch Buinne, like the rest of the Burren, was forged by nature’s own hand, using a paintbrush of rain splatters. Karst lakes are formed when limestone is dissolved by centuries of rainwater.
Talking about mysteries, where do you think the word ‘mystery’ originates from? My conclusion is mist…. No one ever knew what lay behind the mist. It was a mystical mystery.
I look forward to the day I will see mist on my friend, my neighbour, the lake.
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