Erc was a great cairn of a man. His belly was where the stones buckled out under their own weight. His feet was where a pair of them had tumbled to the ground. His head was a boulder on top that was cracked straight across. He could open this jagged crack of a mouth wide as a stone cave and bellow out of it all manner of wild flummeries he’d learned from the days when he was a druid.
“Ah-h-h-h! Yah-h-h-h! God is the wind that blows over the sea… the wave of the deep… the bull of the seven battles… the tear in the eye of the sun.”
His breath had the musty moulder and damp of caves to it. The words rushed forth thick as bats but more of them got left within that ever come out because there’s never been the likes of druids for secrets.
Buechner, again, this time describing the monk Erc, in Brendan.