Poetry – Heron
A solitary heron, silver-grey, his stature great, resides within the river village, old man hunched and scouring.
Poetry – Pebbles
Tricoloured pebbles, the sand stepping-stones of a shuffling huddle, or shifting land – a clinking crowd at ground.
Flash Fiction: Soap-White
She assumes her position at the sink, everything greasy from the day’s befores. She scrubs at silver insides; the eternal circle from clean to unclean. The water pounds in and she thinks of the river; a rat’s tail – just the tail, moving through rushes.
Poetry – To Ahenny
To Ahenny where slate spills from the land like prehistoric teeth. I bite back, snap with my new camera, angled for scenic views, fail to capture that dead outreach,
Waves, Change and Memories
Jumping waves and paddling have to be two of the most liberating activities it is possible to undertake. I was reminded of this truth when my husband and I brought our daughter to the beach in Bonmahon, recently. At 18 months, she was able to begin savouring the experience of sand and sea. Taking a…
The Poetry of Wildflowers
Dead Nettle, the words have a rattle. Death should not belong to soft lilac, or even the green, wing-like leaves that dress you, coquettish weed.
The Magic of County Galway
All around, the coral mountains, crumbling stone walls, lakes – a shade that borrows from sea, that could belong to somebody’s eyes . . . These were my impressions of County Galway, as we journeyed towards Clifden, a town known for its extraordinary position, nestled between the foothills of the Twelve Bens and the magnificent…
The Adventure Years
When the sand draws you down to its grainy heart, you have to keep control of your feet, lift them, before they sink completely. This, I found out while walking on the beach at Ardmore with my husband and baby daughter. I was posing for a lighthearted picture and somehow my daughter’s buggy stayed firm,…