Not getting away from it all

 Even here on the edge of Hibernia

colonised by purple rhododendron

and foxglove and yellow field irises

and braying donkeys and humming alpacas

the dog still barks and the wind howls

and the waves lash over pink sea thrift

and a newly installed solar panel system bleeps

background score to the roosters crowing

at 90 decibels- the equivalent of a dog bark-

announcing dawn, dusk, danger 

or simply fighting or mating or both,

there are two of them.

The man will come later to fix it-

the solar panel that is-

while the farmer below drills through hard rock

and the latest rescued dog sets up a din.

It's as cacaphonous here as in the city,

just more colourful.