Thunder... lightning...

The river dances along with a soundtrack and light show only God could perform.
 

I watched the violent raindrops dance vigoursly, as if possessed by some spirit of the shimmering ripples. helpless, forced onward, onward.

Carried from Slieve Croob through timeless villages, Lisburn, Hilden, Shaws Bridge, Aghalee......
 

Bourne as if on the wings... of the banshee.
 

Churning, thrashing, spilling...
 

All the time the dance continues, passionate.... driven.

Riverbanks strain to contain her thrust, her lust... to be driven onward, onward.
 

And still I watched... waiting... waiting
 

Raindrops smashing through the leaves, soil to mud, torrents give way to the night.. she must reach her lover he calls to her 40 miles away.... faster my love I'm waiting here for you, vast open yours... all yours.
 

The rain drives her on, on, her current, a heartbeat quickening... more rain, more rain drives the pulse burning through her grassy veins.
 

The Thunder rolls over her head screaming and barking at her to hurry, hurry..... she can see him!!!
 

The grey Laird of the Lough calls her to him their waters entwine and the current subsides, the thunder rolls away, the rain finishes its toils and skips off into the dusky night air.
 

After the rain? the waters bask in the afterglow forever joined as they head out to sea...
 

After the rain? then... then comes the morning.....