Winter is a time of wonderful light. It spreads in long rays across the land or creates deep and vibrant sunsets over the lake. I usually choose a word to guide me through the forthcoming year. I have had fun with this process over the years including words like, threshold, inkling, expand, pilgrimage. Some of my . . .
She stood in the storm, and when the wind did not blow her way, she adjusted her sails. Elizabeth Edwards It was my son who called me to the window as this deep pink sunset filled the sky. It never ceases to draw us there to stand and stare. You can keep your golden yellow streaky skies! Something about this deep pink, . . .
There's something about photographing evening skies that never fails to raise my spirits. Tonight, driving home into the western sunset, I had to stop to capture the ever changing canvas, so many times along the way. As the sun dropped towards the horizon the colours intensified and deepened. It was a welcome distraction . . .
Would you be mad for that little speck of rainbow in the deep rain filled sky? Or this bush, with its brazen head of golden curls? And would you love how he made a fence from sawn up trees, lining them up on the ditch like children, posing for family snaps? And would you be giddy about the woolliness of those lads? How they make . . .
This morning, the beauty of another day. Small things, coffee, toast, silence. And how amazing is fruit? Having choice? Banana or blueberry? Egg or beans........? The sun in the east, the full moon setting in the west. The faintest pastel pink in the sky at the horizon. The same view but on a new day. A day anyone would get up out of . . .
In winter our planet moves around to the best possible angle for evening sun. Through my kitchen window, night after December night, the gloaming envelops everything with it's vibrance. And as 2014 is coming to an end, it's now time to hibernate, look back and look forward. Every year around this . . .
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 our relationships, when we go beyond weather talk . . .
Every year there is one sure thing, we will make a journey out to the west of Ireland where the Atlantic crashes against the shoreline of Europe, last stop before New York. There will be clouds, there will be mist and there will be a sense of leaping off the edge of the world and into the benign abyss. Out past the road from Dungarvan to Youghal . . .