On the last day of summer we were down at the lake. Although everything changes and nature is under extreme pressure, this patch is still a haven. Butterflies were gathering on the wild water mint and the wind was gently swaying the long grasses, full of purple loosestrife and . . .
I just realised that I can't wait to get back on the road. It's not that I don't love my home place, I really do. Since coming home, the weather in Ireland has been beautiful and the nature surrounding us has felt very precious. But today I was looking back over our couple of months . . .
The light was returning. I had even opened my big mouth to utter the words- At last Spring is here! That was when the storms and the winter gales hit us with a vengeance. I was taking part in a #100DaysofWalking challenge, eating for the good of my bones and cutting out all things . . .
I see her walking on a path through a pathless forest or a maze, a labyrinth. As she walks, she spins and the fine threads fall behind her following her way, telling where she is . . .
Post-heroic stories aren’t focused on individual glory; they’re focused on community. On diversity. It’s not about slaying the dragon, but about harnessing his special skills – making him part of the team. It’s about understanding, and valuing, the black, feathery, croaking . . .
Death or the long sleep, is a subject that I am endlessly interested in. There is such beautiful decay around us in everyday winter fading. Maybe we are divided into those who yearn for Spring and those who are slower to leave Winter? Confinement has shrunk my world . . .
I don't necessarily think of myself as an older person. But there you are, I am an older person. So when I was asked by Garter Lane Arts Centre to facilitate a photography workshop for older people as part of the Bealtaine Festival, I was curious. (The Bealtaine Festival is . . .
I started a one year sabbatical from my job of over 20 years in January this year. For the first couple of months I struggled with a bout of shingles and every other damn thing you could imagine. I even managed to fall flat on my face twice. For the first time since I was 10, I have two scabby . . .
Darkness, damp nature, gnarled old trees. I'm no witch, but looking into this leafy pool, I fall under its spell. Then down onto the woody undergrowth with me. And the power of the place, the magic! The more I travel with no agenda, the more the lens captures what I'm feeling and living . . .
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 . . .