She edges across the Irish sky from the south west. Traveling on the wind, changing moment to moment. From first thing in the morning we wonder about what we are in for, what mood will our weather bring today. Forming a boundary in . . .
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 . . .