Analysis of The Cavehill Short Story

Here I am sipping a pink grapefruit and green coffee Vital drink on ice. I’m sitting in The Cat Garden in the grounds of Belfast Castle within The Cavehill Country Park in North Belfast. The sun is hot on my skin so I am glad of the refreshing drink quenching my thirst. I look across to Belfast Lough. The lough is calm today and a deep blue. The sky is a beautiful light blue and all is well. The castle is just behind me. Childhood memories come to my mind of my brother and I getting our photo taken on the steps of the castle. Happy days!

As I look across Belfast Lough I see a large cruise ship. No doubt tourists coming to see the sights of Belfast. I close my eyes and I hear bird song.  The woodpigeon is the loudest with her coo coo coo coo coo. I also hear the wind gently blowing as well as the noise of the cars down below on the road. I see farmland across the water and one field where the soil has been turned over. I see a little pied wagtail on the ground beside me. Her tail bobbing about. I walk to the herb garden and start to smell the herbs. Smells of lavender and lemon balm fill my nostrils. Then I decide to go for a walk in the wooded area and go deeper into the Cavehill.

The Cavehill is a beautiful, majestic hill. The outline of the hill is like the side of a man’s face and is known to the locals as Napoleon’s Nose. It is spring and there are many wild flowers around. I see a carpet of English bluebells, swaying in the wind and dancing like fair maidens at a ball. I see the wild garlic, with its white star shaped flowers and broad green leaves. I rub my fingers on the leaves and smell the garlic on my fingers. The birds are singing all around me. This hill brings me joy and peace. It is filled with childhood memories – mostly of my dad. I remember when we ran into the swarm of bees. Thankfully my siblings and I were fine. Dad climbed into all five caves in the hill when he was a young man of nineteen. He often told the story down through the years. He was lucky he did not fall off the hill or I would not have been here to author this story.

In the 1800s the hill was used as farmland and sheep would graze on the hill. From the 1880s deciduous and coniferous trees were planted. As I walk through the wooded area I see little streams bubbling with white frothy water. The sight of the froth makes me thirsty. It is a hot day and I have been walking quite a bit. I then head for home.