If you walk down the road on a Sunday afternoon you could be feeling a certain melancholy overtake you. You might feel it surge and attempt to penetrate but you button up your jacket and bend your head to the cold wind and glancing briefly up at the sky you think to yourself, okay, in about twenty minutes it will pour out of the heavens, so walk fast Mary, because you do not want to be drenched. So I walk on, past the silent despair that sits in many of the homesteads that make up this townland. I pass a house, where, about six years ago, a son, only just returned from England, hung himself from a rafter in one of the outhouses, in the yard. The house looks sinister to me today, the greenery grown tall and swaying in the wind, nothing but white smoke billowing from the chimney, a red pick up and three other cars parked in the driveway. A dog barks and two cows lie low on the grass, one heavy with milk. Down I trod past the bluebells growing in the neglected farmhouse and past the homes of a few acquaintances. Nothing stirrring. Where is everyone? In bed? Tucked away from the world, glad of a Sunday to withdraw? I cannot do that. I have to live. I have to keep getting something from the day. I have to keep giving to the day. I have to wake up and brew the coffee and split open the fresh eggs bought at the Galway market and toast the San Francisco Sour Dough and dig the garden and send the middle son off to Sligo on a bus to play Basketball and tell the other son life is what you make it and go to the Garden Center with my youngest son and listen to him as he walks around saying I remember this place, walking when I was small and running to see the chickens and I say ''pick out some plants for Grandmas grave'' and he does, with intensity. We buy a pot and good soil and when we get home we put everything in the porch because the rain comes and spoils our hopes. Instead we spread out on the couch, peruse the Sunday papers as I sip white wine from a fragile glass as the dogs vie with each other as they seek comfort on my lap.