Retracings

This sunshiney afternoon, I dropped by the place I lived when I first came to West Cork. It was probably this time last year when I moved in (during TBBI: the time before blogging in Ireland).

I drove up the back roads to the secluded house overlooking the sea. The sound of the waves carries up the valley; you can hear it inside the house, over any typing sounds. Today the herd of cows were still gathered close to the house (last year they used to watch Orlaith TV, they'd just follow me from room to room, see what I was up to). And the birds were gathering all their nesty materials, and the bluebells and wild garlic and bright yellow gorse were all in bloom; it won't be too long before the spires of cerise foxglove start appearing.

So, I stood listening to the waves. I used to make my way down through the fields to the strand - a little stretch of sheltered beach. Sometimes as I passed by, the cows would all start mooing loudly, like a bovine security alarm. I remembered the day it was discovered that the little wire field-fences were sometimes electrified (sorry Shona!).

Back then, the neighbour-farmers knew me, and they were fine with me going through the fields; this year I should probably drive the long way around to the beach. So, I picked up the gardeney things that I'd left there (for tis the season of planting up) and retraced my steps, away from the lovely, inspirational place.