Ireland is going green. First of all it's the National Holiday, Saint Patrick's Day. But even more importantly it is also Spring. At last, at last, at last. After the grey, stormy winter, here in the fields, every small twitch of change registers. Buds, shoots, blossoms, flowers. Nest building, mad march hare . . .
Home
Clinging on in the storm The storm hit hard and I was in the thick of it swerving back and forth in 150k gusts. Finally reaching the warren of back roads nearest home, it dawned on me; I was crazy to be out in this weather! Of the many possible routes, three turned out to be blocked by fallen trees, and after . . .
The sky is on fire in the west
Just now the October sky is on fire in the west. . . .
Where there’s muck there’s money
There's an Irish expression that where there's muck there's money. The last week has seen the return of muck to these parts but we are still waiting to see the money. Crops have been harvested, grass growth is slowing, the clocks went back last night, rain is falling heavily and the local pot holes are filling up to the brim with water. . . .
Ireland 2013
It's messy. Through a blurry haze, the camera is loving raindrops and turning them into bokeh. Very little input from the photographer on this walk except maybe clicking the shutter. Questions are meandering in and out of the two boney hemispheres between my ears. Round and round. How many of us are craving healing? Feeling tired of . . .
Does it make you wonder?
Does it feel darker inside when it's darker outside? Do you ever wonder why the earth turns away again from the sun, when that's what we crave? Or do you feel the sheer lack of control, of authority of consultation? It just does. No body asks us what we think. The seasons loop around us. Still. Tonight I can see down to . . .
Sweet nothings
He gathers windfalls and leaves them on the white washed gate post. I used to think it was an invitation to help yourself. Now I know it's a stash he's keeps for the horses. As the evening sun sparkles on the lake, he takes a few in his pocket and wanders down towards the waterside field. I was there tonight and . . .
The tangy orange of the Blog Awards 2013
The cafe near Coumenoule The lush Montbretia hedgerows of the Dingle Penninsula The Surf School in Inch Mr Orange Shorts in Coumenoule Does all this orange clash horribly with the foxglovish purples on this page? Yes...... but it goes . . .
Friendship at the edge of time
Every year there is one sure thing, we will make a journey out to the west of Ireland where the Atlantic crashes against the shoreline of Europe, last stop before New York. There will be clouds, there will be mist and there will be a sense of leaping off the edge of the world and into the benign abyss. Out past the road from Dungarvan to Youghal . . .
Summer morning in an Irish country garden
The morning begins with 6 ducks swimming right to left in the lake at the end of the field. Then shortly afterwards 8 ducks swim back in the other direction. I am on pause. At 5 in the morning, after weeks of travelling and seeking I am slumped in a chair in front of the familiar . . .
