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 . . .
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 . . .
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 . . .
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 . . .
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 . . .
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, . . .
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, . . .
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 . . .
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 that even trying to capture light in this way will bring you into a joyful and magical world. Ever . . .
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 landscape. It's the 100th Anniversary of our Easter Rising, the Rebellion of 1916 that led to the setting . . .