Originally published in The Irish Times
Silver bark of birch trees glowed in the darkness of late evening. Ghostly tall spindles lit the pathway as I snaked along and inhaled long forgotten Fermanagh air. There is a scent that only lingers here, redolent of childhood, wildness and innocence. …
Originally published in The Irish Times
Autumn has come at last. The fleeting cold winds of late September quickly gave way to an Indian summer, and I wondered if the too slow seepage of heat would ever actuate the natural cycle of seasonal signals. …
Originally published in The Irish Times
The willow tree outside our house is curved towards the east, its branches bent, a natural Degas painting. The prevailing winds have picked up on the Mourne coast and I can see first-hand the moulding of trunk and branches. …
Originally published in The Irish Times
Now and then I swim out too far, feeling the smallness of me amid the sometimes menacing expanse. Recently I found myself front-crawling into the very adult world of publishing politics, and the very definite pulse of my youth was both horrified and bolted by a current so strong I was afraid I might drown. …
Originally published in The Irish Times
I haven’t seen a cloud in days, memory clouded though by the fug of the heat, the dryness of the air. Rare here in Ireland but perhaps not so in the future. Newspapers showing misrepresented images of sun and holiday smiles and splashes. …
Originally published in The Irish Times
Two months ago, we moved from the market town of Castlewellan, bristly nestled beside the busiest of roads and a forest park, to the Mourne Coast Road. Down the road but different worlds, really. …
