Spring has been a difficult time. It's not just the social isolating, or the threat the pandemic poses. Our family lost our beloved Step Mother to the Covid 19 virus on April 18th. I've written 4 pieces for the Waterford News and Star since the lockdown. They meander through the last few weeks with the story of what happened . . .
Times are strange for sure. While Spring is trying it's best to break through we are also struggling with what Covid -19 has brought us. Anxiety and isolation mostly. Saint Patrick's Day has been cancelled. We all have to have private parades and parties. We wash our hands and cross our fingers. I've developed a nasty habit of . . .
O I could gush! Spring has arrived and underfoot things are hotting up. Although these wild couple of acres give fantastic cover to all sorts of small animals, every field outside of these boundaries is now preserved for a local a gun club. The guns are a worry for a wandering photographer like myself. Another reason to avoid . . .
And everything is slower here. I have to keep reminding myself. This ice will melt. The evenings will lighten. The soil will warm. Spring will come again. And the slower it is, the closer it binds time to me. Binding it tight. Hundreds of seconds and minutes of this time thing. This wiry, brittle, sluggish, caramel of . . .
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 she dying?" Quite the opposite, it was another new life. The awful sound of pain had dramatically increased and then suddenly . . .
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 year, or even last week? Auto pilot is our normality. We are always more aware on special days; when babies are born, when we have that job interview, . . .
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 Atlantic. This elegant maple has always been out of place in our wild and lazy couple of acres, home of beech, willow and pine trees. My father was . . .
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 intensive farming is in fashion, all wild animals will be vulnerable. But this week they were back, lolling around between the warm stones and the . . .
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: that the soul exists and is built entirely out of attentiveness.” Mary Oliver Primroses, Violets, Honesty and Whitethorn. Our ditches and . . .
It's 9 AM. Look closely at the top left to see her ( a tiny speck) perching on the highest point on the hill. Thrush It's a daily habit. She rises early and if the morning seems perfect, no wind, no rain, she stands, chest puffed up, opens her throat and sings her song. She has quite a few phrases, repeats each one couple of . . .