The humpbacked road undulates and twists between eye watering sunshine and ghostly mists. Sheep stroll nonchalantly along the verges. A hawk soars on eddying currents of summer air. The smell of the sea rides on the breeze. For a moment this is heaven.
”…it seems the Martians have come to Connemara, colonised minds and corrupted scenery…tomorrow’s planners oblivious…”
Then it appears. A fortification of some kind, a mast angular and steely, at odds with the stony hills. An early warning, heralding an invasion of this wondrous landscape in the name of progress.
It seems the Martians have come to Connemara, colonised minds and corrupted scenery. The great western wilderness is breaking into pieces, vistas sundered, the eyeline slashed to shreds by lines of cable and grids of steel, tomorrow’s planners oblivious to today’s bigger picture.