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 . . .
In the green backwoods
We listen for the sound of the soft turf giving way with each footstep. We watch every little rustle in the leafy undergrowth. . . .
Busy bees, the hoverflies and us.
We are busy; the bees, the hoverflies and us. We are buzzing, and flitting and re-focussing our . . .
The stillness of a meditating Hare
It's 10 years ago, our first night in the new house and I can't sleep for excitement. It is such a quiet spot and all I can hear is the sound of the endless silence ringing in my ears. I can't stop myself listening and trying to hear something I can recognise. But in no . . .
……and just at that moment……
Special times come and go so fast. The one beautiful evening this summer. That last photo opportunity of the day. The final moments of the slithering sinking sun. After a pet day on Rossbeigh Strand, that elusive sun is tracked until it's very last golden seconds of . . .
Sisters and summer light
Have just spent 5 wonderful days with not one, not two, but all three of my beautiful sisters. During a grey rainy July they brought such a blast of summer light into my life. Not that there was much sun (!) it was more their own warm glow, their laughing eyes, those common . . .
Foxglove time!
Ireland's most spectacular wild flower is blooming prolifically on the lane today. The Foxglove, Digitalis purpurea, An Lus Mór, reaching up to 150 cm high and hosting up to 75 individual flowers on each stem is everywhere. I remember so well as a child putting the . . .
Dawn embrace
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 . . .
December dusk from my window
When it is over, I don't want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real. I don't want to find myself sighing and . . .
Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around a lake
Some mysterious things go on in the world. Many that most of us don't expect, support or buy into. While we all have to mull over and face up to our fair share, it is often hard to find solutions to the myriad of problems that absorb us. Foxglove Lane is an oasis from that place ; no . . .
