The best place.


I’m sitting here with the most heavenly of views beside me.  August has only just begun, but the winds are up already, alternately bringing light and shade, forcing the sea to turn a different blue every second.  It was part turquoise last time I looked, but now it’s dark, dark blue, with small tufts of white spray bouncing across the deeper bay.  Cloud shadows chase each other along the mottled sand, over the green and rocky headland.  The hills across the sea are almost hidden, telling the story of the rain we had earlier, and hopefully won’t have again.  I can’t see Muckish mountain from here, or I would know what’s coming.  I can only crane to see the sky behind me, and it’s a promising blue mixed with sprinting wisps.  They could gang up and block the sun.  They could make rain.  But right now, it is dry and bright, and in Donegal, you take what you get.

I love the sound of the wind here – howling down the chimney, pushing against the trees, making them dance.  Every once in a while, it drops, and there is respite, but never for long.  There aren’t many birds out now save a few darting, diving gulls.  I can hear a couple chirping in the bushes, but they’re not showing themselves.  I don’t blame them.  The sleek-coated cows are back in the field below.  I saw the farmer earlier, and thought they’d been moved.  I was told once what it meant for the weather when they were lying down or standing up, but I have no idea which way is good.  But then, every type of weather here holds its own beauty, and today I have the privilege of watching them all.

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