I've taken a break from this blog for a staycation; interwoven with salt water, forest bathing and butterfly spotting. It was hot in Ireland. I often sat under an umbrella, unable to put even one toe onto the baking sand. All the windows and doors had to be open wide, day and night. Everything scorched. The green turned to gold in the . . .
Small flocks of warblers have invaded the herb garden and I've taken a big shine to them. I think this one is a Chiff-chaff but as ever I am open to correction by my twitcher friends. This summer there are fewer butterflies and insects but a lot more warblers. My sister was visiting from Sweden and we both remarked on the eery silence and lack . . .
At first light, let the sounds and colours of the morning enter you. Rise when the animals take breakfast. Over coffee keep a steady hand on a long lens, chaffinches might be dropping by. Or go out into the frosty dawn, well wrapped up and remember your key this time! At the peak of the day open the kitchen door and watch . . .
I am on the move and missing those walks on the lane. From life on the road, the midlands of Ireland open like a golden tablecloth waiting to be laid for Spring. Crumpled, layered, deep. The dark trees are silhouettes now, solid and strong. They open conversations with the sky and the land. Then they turn to me saying . . .
When the rain rolls in from the western Atlantic we can be enveloped for days. The greyness hangs over the whole island like a wet blanket. We struggle to . . .