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The Red Road.


In my interpretation, the Red Road is bordered by a ditch - that dark half pipe being the place to fall into, either by wrong action or misstep. However it also functions as a place to jettison baggage; unwanted, outgrown luggage; the stuff we all carry but perhaps should not: for there is truly no need. The ditch as border is close to Celtic heart, for the Celt wanders borders only too well. The fence, the time between the times, That is where the Celt prefers to dwell. Neither sea or field, but the shoreline - forever changing, neither here nor there. That fence becomes the edge of the ditch - a tempting construct all to easy to slip into, either by misstep or choice. A place of easy answers, certain untruths. A place wherein we loose identity, but gain acceptance. The Celt may walk the razor’s edge on the extreme right: the thin strip of red that defines the edge of the ditch, not the road itself. The question remains as to whether one can jump the ditch to walk upon the true Red Road.