FRENZY A small row-boat on Keel Lake, the water sluppering gently as he rowed, the easy sh-sh-sshhh of the reeds as we drifted in, and all about us tufts of bog-cotton like white moths, the breathing heathers, that green-easy lift into the slopes of Slievemore. All else the silence of islands, and the awe of small things wonderful: son father, on one keel, the ripples lazy and the surfaces of things unbroken. Then the prideful swish of his line fly-fishing, the curved rod graceful, till suddenly mayfly were everywhere, small water-coloured shapes like tissue, sweet as the host to trout and - by Jove! he whispered, old man astounded again at the frenzy that is in all living. -- John F. DEANE