I gcoimthéacs na gcnocán síonmhar faoi sholas beag an Bhíobla a scaipeann ar an mBurren, ar lá gaoithe Samhna, bhí Cormac ag siúl leis féin.

In the context of the cnocán síonmhar under the dim light of the Bible that spreads over the Burren, on a windy Samhain day, Cormac was walking alone.

Bhí clúdach síoda de dhath órga tarraingthe ar fud an tírdhreacha.

A golden silk cover was drawn across the landscape.

Bhí na crannóga ag donnú go mall, agus an spéir á maisiú leis na scamaill gorma a bhog go mall ar nós scéalta seanchaí.

The trees were slowly browning, and the sky was adorned with blue clouds that drifted slowly like the tales of a storyteller.

Rinne Cormac botún uair amháin, agus chaill sé cineál plandaí.

Cormac made a mistake once and lost a kind of plant.

Go fóill, ghleacadh eachtraí an am atá thart le chéile ina intinn, ag séideadh fuar-láimhe ar na plaidíní éadrom.

Still, past events intertwined in his mind, breathing cold-handedness on the light blankets.

Bhí a bhrionglóid simplí anois: teacht ar phlanda fíor-annamh.

His dream was simple now: to find a truly rare plant.

Bhí Aoife agus Seamus lena thaobh, iad siúd iontach dílis dó, ach chuir tuairiscí ar thaibhsí Samhna eagla ar Sheamus.

Aoife and Seamus were by his side, both incredibly loyal to him, but reports of Samhain ghosts frightened Seamus.

"Ó Dhe," a dúirt Seamus gan chuimilt, "an ceart dúinn a bheith anseo um thráthnóna ar a leithéid de lá?

"Oh God," said Seamus without hesitation, "should we really be here on such an evening as this?"

" Bhí Aoife á aontú le Seamus de ghnáth, ach bhí sí ag tacú le Cormac ar an turas seo.

Aoife usually agreed with Seamus, but she was supporting Cormac on this journey.

Ba bhreá léi an dúlra a chaomhnú chomh maith.

She loved to preserve nature as well.

"Caithfidh mé an t-éacht seo a chur i gcrích," a d’fhreagair Cormac go dána.

"I must accomplish this feat," Cormac replied boldly.

"Seo mar atá mo cheacht le foghlaim.

"This is the lesson I need to learn.

Tugaim an ómós seo do shaibhreas ár n-oidhreachta.

I give this honor to the wealth of our heritage."

"Leag na trimhseacha a sliocht ar an talamh fhuar.

The grasses laid their offspring on the cold ground.

Bhí dorchadas ag éirí níos cóngaraí, agus bhí martanaí an cheo ag scaipeadh go fánach.

Darkness was drawing closer, and wisps of fog were scattering aimlessly.

Go hobann, b'éigean dóibh seasamh.

Suddenly, they had to stop.

Chuala Cormac cuir na nguthanna os a chionn ag bogadh as dorchadas uathaisteach.

Cormac heard the call of voices above him moving from the dreadful darkness.

Cheap sé go raibh sé ag brionglóid, ach thosaigh sprid go bínn ag caint leis.

He thought he was dreaming, but a spirit sweetly began to speak to him.

Leis na scéalta a theldig sé roimhe, lean sé í go géarchúiseach.

With the stories he had heard before, he followed her keenly.

Tugadh é trasna na ndroim de chéile, áit nach raibh aon eolgacht ann.

He was led across the hills, to a place with no familiarity.

A leithéid de thír thalamh chotha na sí, chuir sé ionadach, mar d’fhámair níorbh fhada a scéal.

Such a land of the sí brought surprise, as he realized the story would not be a long one.

Mar sin féin tháinig iontas tóiseach de lá fuinneamh, nuair a bhí an mhaidin ag druidim.

Nevertheless, an unexpected energy of the morning dawned when the morning approached.

Fearadh Cormac chuig íseal na talún i lár an Bhoirín agus bhí sé os comhair an phlanda uaillmhianigh sin.

Cormac was brought to a lowland in the middle of the Burren, facing the ambitious plant.

Bhí orthu dul i gcion, ach bhí an diongbhála sin fágtha aige nuair a d'uair sé is ticneéid zoomú.

They were drawn towards it, but he left that determination behind when he heard ticking zooming sounds.

D'iaslódáil Cormac grianghraif den phlanda, a raibh a dhath iontach i measc na dtúr órga.

Cormac downloaded photos of the plant, whose color was magnificent among the golden towers.

Lorg an mhaidin lom bréagach, ach bhí an planda a rinne sé an laochra faoi dheireadh tugtha smúit di.

The barren morning seemed deceptive, but the plant he had sought was finally laid bare.

Bhí an sprid imithe, bhraith Cormac go raibh sé ceangailte leis na h-ársa draíochtúla seo.

The spirit was gone, Cormac felt connected to these ancient mystical entities.

Bhí isteach aige anois, scíora agus freagracht mhoránta ar a chroí.

He had a burden now, a great responsibility on his heart.

Bhí sé réidh chun troid ar son a oidhreachta, dhá stoca a thaistil orthu.

He was ready to fight for his heritage, traveling on two paths.

D’éirigh an Ghrian, bhí bualadh bos ó mhuintir na dtaibhsí a thóg lena dhroms an oiread coimhthíoch.

The sun rose, and a round of applause from the ghostly folk lifted his spirits.

Sin mar a bhí ann.

That was how it was.

Bhí sé réidh.

He was ready.

Bhí Cormac, sciath dea-soláthraithe an Bhoirín, fillte faoi scáth cosanta.

Cormac, shield-provider of the Burren, was wrapped in protective shade.

Sin é an dóigh don éacht seo, ar mhaithe leis an talamh.

Thus was the way for this achievement, for the sake of the land.

Leis an áilleacht choimhthíoch a chaomhnú.

To preserve the exotic beauty.

Le toradh na ndánta a chríochnú.

To complete the fruit of the poems.

Go raibh sé in amáiste, mar scéalta sean-aimseartha.

Let it be a tribute, like old-fashioned tales.

Go raibh sí buan.

Let it endure.

Beidh a lá ann arís.

There will be a day like this again.