I drove out to a bog near Ennis tonight.
I'm not entirely sure why.
I didn't plan it. I was sitting at home, scrolling through emails, trying to process everything that's happened this month, and I just felt this... pull. Not physical. More like something in my chest was tugging me toward somewhere specific.
So I got in the car with Rattlin' the cat and I drove.
It was late. Past midnight. The roads were empty. And I found myself heading toward the coordinates. The ones from the math paper. The ones from the @bog_remembers video.
I parked the car and got out and just stood there. The bog was dark. Cold. Quiet in a way that feels heavier than normal silence. Like the world was holding its breath.
I sat down on a rock and I waited.
And I listened.
For about an hour I just sat there, and I swear — I swear on my life — I heard something. Not the song exactly. But the rhythm of it. The pattern. In the wind moving across the water. In the water lapping against the banks. In the earth itself, like the bog was breathing and I could hear its heartbeat.
Rattlin' the cat was in the car the whole time with the windows down, and she wouldn't stop staring out toward the center of the bog. Her ears were pricked forward. Alert. Like she was listening to something I couldn't hear.
When I got back in the car, I looked where she'd been staring, and I swear there was something out there. A light, maybe. Or the reflection of moonlight off water. Or nothing at all.
I drove home in silence.
The song is still in my head. It always is now.
But tonight it feels different. Tonight it feels like it's coming from somewhere outside of me. Like the bog itself is singing, and I'm just remembering the words.
I'm probably losing my mind.
But I don't think I am.
And tomorrow is April.
And March is over.
And I don't know what happens next.
—Seamus