Posts about Seasons in Ireland
Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild. With a faery, hand in hand. For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand. “The Stolen Child” is a poem by William Butler Yeats, published in 1889 Listen to the poem set to music by the Waterboys here See more wild […]
We inhaled the scent of herbs on the soft balmy air. Occasional yelps of joy bounced across the lake as youngsters leapt into the water from the dodgy bough that leans out over the deeper water. The Irish feel such deep relaxation in our bodies when the temperatures soar. So we are elated […]
Wild Foxgloves appear in a new place each year, especially some old patch that has been recently cleared. A corner of rocky earth suddenly gives birth to an abundance of the most exotic of our wildflowers. They nestle under trees and festoon the hedgerows. They peep over the tallest grasses and parade their […]
Spring comes early here. Delicate and lemony leaves fill the hedgerows. By the time we return, foxgloves will be flowering again on the lane. Truth be told, it’s hard to leave. The privilege I feel turning into my sixth decade is overwhelming. Early losses meant that I may have lived a little tentatively, now […]
Bumble bee Gorse Violet Blackthorn blossom Ladybird Herb Robert Primrose It’s three years now since I started this blog. One of my earliest posts was a photograph of creamy Blackthorn blossoms on the ditch. Today just a short walk up the lane reveals again the quiet beauty of our wildflowers. While the coconutty gorse […]
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 […]
Pink, blue, lavender and softest grey, the pastel diary of early spring days. The promise of a new palette. Until then soak in the light, the heart, the hope. Warmth streaming through the window after our wintery lunch. Pull back the curtains, throw open the door and listen to the whisper of the world turning.
After the devastation of the storm, the tree may be gone but the crocuses are still blooming unharmed beneath it……
And just when it seemed like the relentless greyness would never return to light, under the dark compost, luscious rhubarb was being reborn. It distracted me from the gloom……. Green shoots, seeking light, embracing shade and living in glorious colour……..