Ascending from the hazel grove and its nearby well one very soon reaches by way of the small smooth stoned ravine the tranquil Ochtach grove overlooking the meandering Glandhuan River. On this the southern visage of the grove of nine pines is located the astonishingly beautiful Aislinge Rú octagonal wooden pavilion; an exquisite yellow roofed pavilion symbolizing the harmonious matrimony of all directions in one place, which was built and hand-carved by Rísteárd Muirglan Suibhne Mac Grailt as a wedding anniversary gift for his precious wife Aoife Gléslí Brídóir Ní hAimsiri. It took him twenty-seven months to complete.
Aoife often comes here to read, reflect and write. It is one of her favourite places in the hill country of Déisi Mumhan. How she delights too to stroll up here in lovely moonlit nights with Rísteárd.
It is about the midday hour, and Aoife in sensuous edenwear is happily strolling away back to the pavilion after enjoying swimming in a shimmering warm pool of the Glandhuan. In a reclining posture on the oyster-coloured cushions there on the green rug in the center of the pavilion she is playfully dressing her long golden brown hair with beads of furze petals and humming a delightful tune. She is gracefully rising to her feet, and in so doing is slowly drawing up about her a long pink cherry blossomed skirt with lovely green embroidery about its waistline and hem.
A very faint easterly breeze has begun to play high up in the pines. Looking up, she is noticing how the branches there are with gentle sway. Leisurely she is putting on a blouse of soft sky blue. Again a faint easterly breeze has begun to play high up in the pines.
Looking up, she is noticing how the branches there are with gentle sway. With slow apace she is intertwining the front of her blouse while humming away the same delightful tune. Subtly she is feeling on the left side of her face this beautiful soft warm scented breeze from the east. As she is turning her head to look in the direction from whence is coming the breeze, she is to her great surprise and delight noticing that Her Majesty Queen Ave Éire Fragrance of the People of Ave Éire is strolling towards the grove.
Her Majesty is wearing a long ochtach green dress that has a gloriously embroidered hem which is touching the ground all around save down at the front where it reveals as she moves her lovely yellow rose shoes. The linings of its long sleeves are of a lovely rich red and detailed with an abundance of golden pink fleur-de-lis designs. About her waist is a loosely tied salmon spotted girdle of whitest fine linen. And upon her head of golden brown hair, all glistening softly in the sunshine is a delicate crown of rarest gems. In her left hand she is holding a light brown hazel wood staff that has growing nearing its top lovely bright lime-green leaves. The staff is about two meters or thereabouts in height, thus making it that little bit taller than herself. In her right hand she is carrying a book that has a golden white cover. Her Majesty’s smiling countenance is so beautifully beautiful as she is looking up towards Aoife who is waving down to her from the pavilion.
Aoife is running down to greet Her Majesty. And even ever before reaching, she is scenting Her Majesty’s distinctively charming fragrance. It is mystifying to describe what that delectable scent is quite like. It may be said to be very delicate and fine like that of sweet furze in full spring bloom and fresh roses of midsummer with that of the faint presence of some kind of herbal scent found somewhere between rosemary and thyme. Anyhow, mystifyingly delectable is that distinctive scent.
Aoife:
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty! What a delightful surprise! It’s so wonderful to see you again.”
Her Majesty:
“So wonderfully delightful to see you too, Aoife! How is your noble handsome Rísteárd keeping?”
Aoife:
“Inn keeping, Your Majesty. He is keeping very well, thank you.”
Her Majesty:
“Thanks be to Lady Ave Éire. And how about yere lovelies, Láfiamór and Róisíneala?”
Aoife:
“They’re in the very best of health, Your Majesty. Lovely they are, thank you.”
Her Majesty:
“Thanks be to Lady Ave Éire. And the pretty perennials, Bealtaine and Samhain?”
Aoife:
“Faithful they are, Your Majesty. Thanks be to Lady Ave Éire.”
Her Majesty:
“Thanks be to Lady Ave Éire.”
Aoife:
“How are the People of Ave Éire keeping, Your Majesty?”
…
Bridging Al-Serenities: The Sacred lands of Éire & Ebla
Aoife often comes here to read, reflect and write. It is one of her favourite places in the hill country of Déisi Mumhan. How she delights too to stroll up here in lovely moonlit nights with Rísteárd.
It is about the midday hour, and Aoife in sensuous edenwear is happily strolling away back to the pavilion after enjoying swimming in a shimmering warm pool of the Glandhuan. In a reclining posture on the oyster-coloured cushions there on the green rug in the center of the pavilion she is playfully dressing her long golden brown hair with beads of furze petals and humming a delightful tune. She is gracefully rising to her feet, and in so doing is slowly drawing up about her a long pink cherry blossomed skirt with lovely green embroidery about its waistline and hem.
A very faint easterly breeze has begun to play high up in the pines. Looking up, she is noticing how the branches there are with gentle sway. Leisurely she is putting on a blouse of soft sky blue. Again a faint easterly breeze has begun to play high up in the pines.
Looking up, she is noticing how the branches there are with gentle sway. With slow apace she is intertwining the front of her blouse while humming away the same delightful tune. Subtly she is feeling on the left side of her face this beautiful soft warm scented breeze from the east. As she is turning her head to look in the direction from whence is coming the breeze, she is to her great surprise and delight noticing that Her Majesty Queen Ave Éire Fragrance of the People of Ave Éire is strolling towards the grove.
Her Majesty is wearing a long ochtach green dress that has a gloriously embroidered hem which is touching the ground all around save down at the front where it reveals as she moves her lovely yellow rose shoes. The linings of its long sleeves are of a lovely rich red and detailed with an abundance of golden pink fleur-de-lis designs. About her waist is a loosely tied salmon spotted girdle of whitest fine linen. And upon her head of golden brown hair, all glistening softly in the sunshine is a delicate crown of rarest gems. In her left hand she is holding a light brown hazel wood staff that has growing nearing its top lovely bright lime-green leaves. The staff is about two meters or thereabouts in height, thus making it that little bit taller than herself. In her right hand she is carrying a book that has a golden white cover. Her Majesty’s smiling countenance is so beautifully beautiful as she is looking up towards Aoife who is waving down to her from the pavilion.
Aoife is running down to greet Her Majesty. And even ever before reaching, she is scenting Her Majesty’s distinctively charming fragrance. It is mystifying to describe what that delectable scent is quite like. It may be said to be very delicate and fine like that of sweet furze in full spring bloom and fresh roses of midsummer with that of the faint presence of some kind of herbal scent found somewhere between rosemary and thyme. Anyhow, mystifyingly delectable is that distinctive scent.
Aoife:
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty! What a delightful surprise! It’s so wonderful to see you again.”
Her Majesty:
“So wonderfully delightful to see you too, Aoife! How is your noble handsome Rísteárd keeping?”
Aoife:
“Inn keeping, Your Majesty. He is keeping very well, thank you.”
Her Majesty:
“Thanks be to Lady Ave Éire. And how about yere lovelies, Láfiamór and Róisíneala?”
Aoife:
“They’re in the very best of health, Your Majesty. Lovely they are, thank you.”
Her Majesty:
“Thanks be to Lady Ave Éire. And the pretty perennials, Bealtaine and Samhain?”
Aoife:
“Faithful they are, Your Majesty. Thanks be to Lady Ave Éire.”
Her Majesty:
“Thanks be to Lady Ave Éire.”
Aoife:
“How are the People of Ave Éire keeping, Your Majesty?”
…
Bridging Al-Serenities: The Sacred lands of Éire & Ebla
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