“I wish I could close my eyes and be blown into dust and nothingness, feel all my thoughts disperse like dandelion fluff drifting off on the wind.” ― Lauren Oliver, Delirium Nothingness There was a whole lot of nothingness going on down at the River Anne, in the Anne Valley. Morning mist rising, the sound of birds in song, water . . .
Bokeh
Early morning light at it's best with sprinklings of frosty dew drops. From my window I won't miss a thing that moves or changes. Small birds hang around on the willows, waiting for the breakfast I will serve them shortly. I've noticed the February sunrise is at the perfect angle. The dimmer switch is being turned up slowly. The sun . . .
Finding a word for 2017
In his recent Christmas message, Brendan Cox the widower of murdered MP Jo Cox, cried out for tolerance and more caring between people. “We have more in common than what divides us, it’s a time to reach out to those who hold different views” he said. Is this the only option left to us all after such a negative and frightening year of change? To try . . .
Photographing evening skies
There's something about photographing evening skies that never fails to raise my spirits. Tonight, driving home into the western sunset, I had to stop to capture the ever changing canvas, so many times along the way. As the sun dropped towards the horizon the colours intensified and deepened. It was a welcome distraction . . .
Heart
She is centre stage. Claiming her space amongst the other small birds, gritty and determined. Her tiny feathers are ruffled from the sheer speed of her arrival. And in seconds she is gone. I am watching her and mulling over my word for 2017. I notice the thumping of my heart. It is beating over 100,000 times each . . .
Ripening
Six weeks have passed and I am still fairly house bound. At this stage I am crawling the four walls, that common form of cabin fever, but I think I am finally on the mend. Over the last few months I have had a stash of ripening seeds under my desk. They are not for planting but for . . .
Friendship
There was a smudge of navy blue painted onto a peachy sky. Nothing had changed but the eery manifestation of fading light, on a winter's evening. The drama of moments passing. And WE were there. My lens captured the scene. But the sound of the moorhens cooing, and of our footsteps through the darkening meadow . . .
On the threshold
I'm like some creature who has been released back into the wild after years of captivity. To protect myself from running around in circles and hitting my head off things, I have to take occasional deep breaths. When I do, the very air I inhale is a soothing sedative of calm. This morning I began. It started with moving a . . .
After the crash
Up until “the crash” I used to work in an office in the centre of Waterford. I loved the sense of community around the city centre and throughout the boom years there was a bit of a buzz developing. At lunchtime every day the local offices would empty out into the streets. All the women in our office would take a hike across town and a twirl . . .
Start slowly
Today I make a slow start. The deep winter is here. January brings, at last, the space I've been longing for. 2017 stretches out ahead, silently for now. Illness has contributed to lower energy than usual but when I look into the fields I sense some common ground. There is a quiet stillness amongst the trees and the hedgerows. . . .
