Blogtrotter

Radharc na Sléibhte i rith an Geimhreadh

Nuair bhí mé óg, chonaic mé na Sléibhte Naomh Gaibhreál os cionn tí againn. Bhí mé a gcónaí i Cnoc Glan, in aice leis na gnoc thíos Sliabh Naomh Antóine. Is leamainm 'Cnoc Maolín,' mar sin é go bhfuil paiste maol air ag barr mhullach. Is paiste sneamh go cromshlínnéanach le deanaí ansiud. Tig leat ag dul nios airde aníos ar mbun gach aimsir i ndiadh Nollaig nó Áthbhlian. Tá sé fearthainn ina ghleann thíos; tá sé leac ar na fánaí thuas.

Ach, no raibh dath ar chor ar bith ban ar feadh an bhlian seo caite. Cén fáth? Ní rabhamar baisteach go leor i An Stát Órga. Fuair muid trí orlach amháin anseo. Bheul, ábalta muid fáil an feachaint go halainn agus go mór faoi latháir. Feicimid radharc úr thar daichead míle.

Chuir mé an peictúir na réimse uaidh sean-lheibheal dó boscaí oráiste nó líomóid. Fadó, ach no raibh fádo go mór, d'imigh mé na úllord na líomóid timpeall teach agam. Bhí maith liom ag imirt ann. Chaith mé na liathroidaí buí ar aghaidh mo cairde. Rugamar na líomóid; d'ólamid sú searbh. Tháinig muid ar ais go tuirseach. D'fhilleadh muid go sasta. D'íth mé sonas riamh go raibh ag dul ag léamh i mo leaba.

Is cuimhne liom an boladh glan agus laidir na torthái bríste i deireadh. Anois, sílím nuair d'fhág na gortaí garbhaí seo. Níl an cumas agam chun é a dhéanamh ag gol ansin. Caillean an cluain ansiud. Tá crainn go milleadh. Is inneadh an radharc nuair bhí mé óg, ach fanann intinn agam amháin ansiud.


Mountain Views during the winter

When I was young, I saw the San Gabriel Mountains above our house. I was living in Claremont, near the hills below Mt. San Antonio. The nickname's Mount Baldy, because of its bald patch atop the summit. There's a snowy patch over there lately. You can go up higher from the bottom every season after Christmas or New Year's. There's rain in the valleys; there's ice on the slopes.

But, there wasn't one bit of white color during the last year. Why? We didn't have enough rain in the Golden State. We got only three inches here. Well, we're able to see a beautiful and grand vista at present. We view a fresh panorama for forty miles.

I put up a picture of the range from an old label from a box of oranges or lemons. A while ago, but not that long ago, I went off into the lemon orchards around my house. I liked going off there. I would throw yellow balls at my friends. We caught the lemons; we drank bitter juice. We went back tired. We returned satisfied. I ate happily before I would go to read in my bed.

I remember the clean and strong smell of broken lemons later. Now, I think of when I left those rough fields. I lack the ability to go back there. The meadows there are lost. The trees are destroyed. I can see the view when I was young, but I can stay back there only in my mind.

Image/ pictíur: www.blueskysearch.com/images/desert.jpg