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Celtic

Fingers of afternoon sun knead the green. What water has already sculpted the sun brings into…

Blue the sea, blue the sky, blue the islander’s eye. Grey of rock and rock and…

Said God, seeing the rest was good, “let’s go for something incomparably odd: an avant-garden, clodless,…

On the leeside of a white cottage near Kilmurvey, I saw, as I passed by on…

Someone described the winter sea off Inismore as aubergine. Now it is merely an indeterminate lead.…

I do not have the words for them- these trees- full grown they are, so trees,…

Lough Doo was not meant for this blue forgetful levity, sun shining. Lough Doo is best…

He would have had something to say about the Conor Pass that grey morning; a last…

It will seem like silence when you first step into it: porous, soaking up sound: but…