Midwinter flight

A lovely blog, and sooooo true of creative folk. Living on the edge, really on the edge, but it works, is the only way to work. Hugs to you, my friend xxx

These Isles

The fieldfares have finished all the berries but I’ve a host of colourful photos and a lifetime of inspiration from this very berried Connemara autumn. I have two sightings of a black hare on the hill, both at dusk, and both after hearing tales of darkness. (I know it is real because the second time Murph sees and smells her too and gives chase.) What I would usually consider a beautiful gift sends a little shudder and a homeward turn. I also learn later that this hill was the site of Ireland’s last wolf, and I wonder who shot her.

And then of a sudden I have to go. Not for the murders in the glen or their mammalian reincarnations; not for the dark winter nights and rain; not for the isolation, but for the politics of the place. Dread has been accumulating and I’ve been denying it – I don’t…

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