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Waves and the ramparts of St-Malo

High Tide and storm over St-Malo

YouTube - Broadcast Yourself.

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SAINT PATRICK'S DAY

HAPPY Saint PATRICK'S DAY... Bon Fête de St-Patrick... Là Fhéile Pàdraig maith aguibh go léir...

Sun and Savage seas

Often when the storm ends we have superb sunshine but wild seas

Pure Fog

This morning the fog was thick, the sea was a distant sound, muffled. My minds eye placed the familiar landmarks in their positions as I arrived into the city. My walk around the city walls was like the images we see of angelic figures wandering around in Heven, all blured images, shadows of people and places we think we know. Then... a sound, a seagul expressing his displeasure at some henious crime perpetrated upon him brought me back to Ireland, Kilkee to be precise, and my first girlfriend, for whom my total admiration was seamless. She too had finished her 'Leaving Cert' (final exams before University and the rest of one's life). We were on the rocks called the Pollock holes and we kissed. Afterwards, I wrote a poem, the only line of which I still remember is; "such a pure thing to kiss in the whiteness of the fog with its endless invisiability inviting you and I too live forever".

Then I was seventeen, now a little older but still a hopeless romantic, some might even say just hopeless .

Look

Looking out to sea
you see what I can see
between you and me
it is quite lovely
which is certainly more
than we can say about
this bit of poetry

Beautiful day for a storm.

It's stormy here with the wind ripping through the city, the sea is more than wild but the sunshine is vivid, the visability sublime, and the colours exquisit. The wind tugged on my hat as I made my way around the ramparts this morning. It's still blowing a storm and a door is banging in the distance. I feel the wind stealing in and creeping around my ankles through the cracks in the windows and doors of the building. Eventually I will get up and close the door correctly but first I have to finish writing this for you.

Lunar Eclips

The moon, like a camembert being attacked by group of French diners, disapeared little by little last saturday night.

Old Faithful

My sister Patty giving time and much affection to the auld ones, Mother dear to the left and Nancy O'Brien RIP to the right.