The Plough has cropped up at many times in my life, to the point where I feel I real affinity to it. It's my favourite constellation the Plough, simple in design, so easy to visualise the sweeping arc of a sickle fitting into its contours.
This set of seven stars first rose to prominence when I stayed in Bantry, on the beautiful coastline of southern Ireland. The trip itself was moving in many ways-feeling a strong sense of belonging because of the people there; the way they treat you, the warmth with which they engage with you, an openess, an honesty, always ready to crack (craic) a joke at their own expense, not taking themselves too seriously but rather living life. This really struck a chord with me, at one point I half considered going to live there, just to see how significant a role these traits in the people around you could play in shaping your life.
Sleeping in an old wood cabin in December, freezing our asses off, trying to stay as close to the heater as possible without burning the whole place down...it was on one of those nights, sat on the wall down by the farm, a few glasses down, that, glancing up at the night sky, the Plough caught my eye, glistening as it was, brighter than the rest. Perhaps it was just me, or the drink, but from that moment on I always searched out the Plough on a clear night and felt contented when I found it, as if I was now looking in the right direction. I don't know whether this familiarity symbolised anything deeper, heading the right way in life, like a guiding light, but I felt a strong connection to it.
Pretentious bullshit Elgar? Maybe, but I don't care, if you believe in something there's nothing that wrong with it.
A ploughed 37. To be harvested tomorrow.
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