Pleasure Gardens of the Townland

We’ve been buffeted by ice winds in Doolin
but today the temperature has gone up a few degrees.
I am trying to stay in rhythms of gardening, walks
and lots of reading and boozing. It’s a system
that’s been working well for me over the years. One of
the pleasures for me here is getting up in the early
hours to read and chill out, before anyone else is up.
And I suppose I also have for many years
had an urge to write when I’m here.

It’s all quiet isolation, the ancient landscape
hardly bothered by even the 20th Century…
except for the ruined RIC barracks (destroyed in 1916)
and the O’Brien’s late medieval castle to the right.
Walking on the boreen is one of the real, gentle
pleasures of staying here and, once you leave
the Galway road behind, you have only ruined cottages,
early medieval ring forts and cows for company.
The birdsong is much more vivid back up
near our house, mainly thanks to the thick gorse
and slowly burgeoning trees on our plot.

Lurraga. Knockacarn. Gortaglob. Island. The
local townland names don’t get much better than this.