89 - Connemara

Driving into work this morning I found myself enjoying the sight of the sun rising behind a silver cloud. There was a little bit of blue sky above that again which highlighted the pretty sun rise. Then I found myself looking at the fields with their luscious green grass and brown reeds with pockets of nettles and doc leaves here and there. Some of the fields have bubbles of white sheep gnawing away at the peat, some have cows staring bored into the heavens, probably thinking what I was just thinking about the beautiful landscape. Some fields, and I am always surprised by this, have horses in them proud, noble lords of the countryside I think. And all these fields are divied by stone walls layed by men whom have not outlived their construction.

Connemara

A few roads run through here, beside the sea and through the bog like veins that carry blood around the body. The people are the blood, the life as I know it, that keep it alive. And there are beautiful voices, Irish, English, French, Polish what have you - all whom add to the fantastic tapestry of modern and ancient society. It is alive here, the shops are alive, religions are alive, the pubs are alive, sports are alive. Houses are strewn without real plan down byroads off byroad... peoples homes... they are not bad social planning, they are not a drain on the water supply or anything negative as some peoples would have you think, these are peoples homes where memories are made and where people are born and die. The whole of every walk of life happens here. 

If it were a song I would play it over and over again. If it were a secret I would spread it to everyone I know. If it were a picture I would hang it over the fireplace where I can see it every day. If it were a food... I would taste it slowly, then devour it whole... but it is none of these, it is my home, my lovely Connemara.