NeuroDivine

There are journeys we take because we must, and journeys that quietly give something back to us along the way. For me, the railway through Ireland’s Midlands has become both—a path to healing and a moving window onto beauty.

This poem is a small act of thanksgiving: for tracks that carry me to care, for landscapes that steady the spirit, and for the wild grace that flashes past the carriage window. In the rhythm of train wheels and the hush of bogland light, I am reminded that even necessary journeys can be sacred ones.

Thanksgiving on the Midland Line

I give my thanks for kindly paths
that wind through Ireland’s quiet heart,
for trains that skim the Grand Canal
where reeds and rushes lean apart.

For Barrow bends in morning light,
her silver shoulders soft and wide,
for kingfishers like sudden flame
that spark the banks on either side.

For boglands quilted brown and gold,
where curlews cry their lonely grace,
for meadows stitched with hawthorn bloom
and hares that cross an open space.

For every mile that bears me on
to healing hours and needed care,
I bless the tracks that hold me up
and all who keep the journeys fair.

For freedom in a simple seat,
for windows framing field and town,
for knowing that this island’s breath
can lift a weary spirit down.

For all who make these travels smooth,
whose work becomes a quiet gift,
I give my thanks: for open rails 
that help me rise, and help me drift.

Copyright 2026 Michael McFarland Campbell.