Category Archives: words
The early morning light seeps in with birdsong. Swallows chatter on the washing line. Starlings bustle in the eaves. Down by the river, nestled in the young corn, a pheasant calls out his salutation. The morning is moving with music that weaves through the first blue light, that first tender light of dawn.
Soon golden tendrils curl around quietly waiting leaves, spread through the dew and filter through the morning mists. Those first rays a blessing upon the patient earth.
Later the light is heavy and hot, panned out in the garden we throb beneath its glow. The world pulses in the white heat. We are lazy now, the birdsong lazy, the long hours lazy. Hens cluck as they scratch dust baths in the cool soil, sending clouds up into the daylight. The slow sun rises and sinks over a languid kingdom within the beech hedges. Summer ripples through the garden.
In the evening comes that golden stretch of luxurious colour, the light of a setting sun. The end of the day flourishing before it is forever gone. In the long grass gold leaks through in dapples, low and lush. We walk knee deep in meadow grasses, each leaf curled toward magic. The world is fire bright and I burn, summer-struck, in a haze of russet and green.
In the three years that I’ve been blogging I’ve received lovely comments and emails from people around the world who took the time to write some kind words to me. Each one is appreciated and fills my heart up. Thank you, all of you, your words mean worlds to me.
Some of the nicest notes I’ve gotten are from those of you who are not from Ireland, but through visits or learning about this place have fallen in love with our little country. It’s always amazing how much power a photograph can hold, unlocking strong emotions in those of us who feel so connected to this place and its people.
There’s a lot of love out there for our land, and I’m bowled over that even a simple photo can open up that joy and sense of belonging. In my photography I try to portray the beauty that I see in my everyday Ireland, whether it’s leaves fallen on a Dublin footpath or a misty dawn in the Tipperary countryside. It touches me deeply that some of those photos may unlock a similar sense of magic for anyone else.
Because I’m steeped in living here, I don’t quite know what it’s like to hold such a deep love for this place and to not be able to be here. I have some sense of what it feels like, the Dingle Peninsula in Kerry awakens similar emotions in me. The landscape there is full of a certain kind of magic that I haven’t experienced elsewhere in Ireland. Photos from Kerry fill me with a deep longing to go back there and fill up with that magic. I feel refreshed and at home there like nowhere else.
What I want to learn about now is what you think about Ireland. Not just those of you who love Ireland from abroad, but also those of you who live here. I want to create a post from your own words and thoughts on what it is that draws you here or keeps you here. Leave a comment or send an email, and leave a link to your own blog (or particular post) so that I can include a link when I write about it.
Looking forward to reading your thoughts and experiences!
In the early light I have come across
the old farmyard and empty field
to the dark edge of the grove,
wood pigeons coo an incessant hymn to the morning
and rabbits scatter to the safety of ditches
at my intrusion upon their dew-soaked feast.
I step into the wildwood
with footfalls too loud in the listening gloom,
camera in hand to capture a dawn
I have ached for since a childhood
spent here beneath these murmuring branches.
It is almost-dark, I am alone looking to the east.
Suddenly the sun is here, wild and orange,
rising fast in the brightening sky.
I fumble with my lens, breathless,
wanting the fiery light in just this way:
seeping through leaves across the beechnut floor
to my feet, my fingers, my ravenous heart.
Swans Across The Morning
Graceless I navigate the dawn
with a trembling mind and runaway heart
craving this peace, this wild light.
Everything is hushed and sleeping
except the light and the river
restless in the mists, taciturn depths.
Swans wing across the morning
gaudy with their honk and hiss
their clamorous flight stirring life into the stillness.