I wonder at times why we don't get up and out for every dawn. When you are camping or sleeping in a tiny VW van at western the edge of Ireland, every sound tells you, the day is here! Get out of bed now! It starts with crows flying from their roost across the harbour to the Castle. I catch them crossing overhead from my . . .
Very early in the morning, before the sun casts it's spell, there are spidery webs everywhere. Have you ever seen the heavy curtains of sparkly fabric draped between the branches, leaves and blossoms? The first time I saw this phenomenon I was shocked by how much of the land is covered in the creative productions of . . .
My Pilgrimage into 2014 goes deeper and the question has become how to visualise this path through photography? How to observe the world through a mist, keep all the options open and embrace the greyness. There's a promise now of rebirth and spring after the long winter. Walking in the steamy wet fields, in the muck underfoot, there's an . . .
When you are out there early in the morning, you see things. Mostly you see the usual things but once in a while nature surprises. These tiny rainbows within rainbows are a combination of dawn light, frosty dew and gorse spikes. Moments later, as the sun comes up, the dancing faery creatures fade. We all have our . . .
There's an Irish expression that where there's muck there's money. The last week has seen the return of muck to these parts but we are still waiting to see the money. Crops have been harvested, grass growth is slowing, the clocks went back last night, rain is falling heavily and the local pot holes are filling up to the brim with water. . . .
As the evening draws in, the snow settles and I ponder the long trip I have to make that next day. The forecast suggests it will linger long enough for a dawn ramble before I head off. Just as the sun rises I am out on the snowy lane. One set of tyre tracks tell me that my neighbour has already made it up the hill. This . . .
The ice has gone for now and the lake is deserted and quiet. During December last year I walked around its perimeter pacing out the last days of his illness. There was nothing surer than the beginning of the . . .
It's early, 4 am. It's going to be a good day, the darkness is a kind of blue. A spooky mist is rising from the lake. As the sun starts to brighten in the east it gradually takes on a warm tinge. It is very cold but the wafts of mist promise the warmth of summer. The small cauldron of the lake is steaming into life this May morning. Two swans . . .