She began to bellow just before 3.30 AM. There's a hill of blazing gorse to the east and she had gotten herself up on the top of that hill to give birth. My son came running downstairs, "Is . . .
We mostly operate on auto pilot. While driving the car we go off into day dreams and don't even know where we are sometimes. How is it we can't remember what we were doing this time last . . .
The maple tree, a present from my Dad, has always struggled with the prevailing south westerlies. Trees in Ireland are bent over towards the east, from gales blowing up from the . . .
We watch, in hope that they will re-appear each Spring. Wild Irish Hares have become scarce in some places but there are still a few around here. As long as . . .
Ten times a day something happens to me like this - some strengthening throb of amazement - some good sweet empathic ping and swell. This is the first, the wildest and the wisest thing I know: . . .
Catching the dawn dancing in raindrops has to be one of the happiest experiences for a natural light photographer. Anyone can take these kind of photos and I guarantee . . .
I'm starting to look for signs of Spring. Bluer blues, brighter whites, dazzling yellows. Soon the Spring stars of the show will have the limelight all to themselves in the dormant . . .
Every year at least once I remember the lines of this poem. Usually it's during Autumn in the dazzling russets of dying leaves. This year it was while walking in Mount . . .
Today it is the stillest, sunniest spring morning. To the east the hill of gorse is in full flower and the exotic aroma of sweet coconut brushes against my jacket. Birdsong fills . . .