The majestic Owenmore river sleeps late. The morning mists have all but disappeared. The water, like glass in places, mirrors the sky. This is Connemara in the West of Ireland.
A patchwork of colours is woven into the traditions of this place. The heathered patina of bogland walks, the copper
”By early dusk a tune rises, so does a glass or two. Golden whiskey catches the firelight,…”
hues of light on fishing ponds , the golden sands on wild Atlantic beaches, the surf riding on blue summer swells and plumes of silvered turf smoke drifting in the evening glow interplay here like some magically conceived jacquard.
By early dusk a tune rises, so does a glass or two. Golden whiskey catches the firelight, ebony and ivory settle to make a good pint.
The catch is cooked, eaten. Stories are told, friends acquainted. A sturdy bed awaits as the drifting moon shepherds the fading light.